Brothers
by Fleuramis
Summary: Aramis and d'Artagnan run into some trouble. Will Athos and Porthos find them in time? (not a very good summary, but my excuse is that it was written at 5:30 in the morning-lol)
1. Chapter 1

D'Artagnan came back from the blackness when a hand insistently tapped on his cheek. He was disoriented at first, not knowing what had happened or where he was. Opening his eyes, he looked up into the chocolate brown ones of his brother, full of concern.

"What happened?" he asked Aramis.

Instead of answering his question, his brother asked him, "Where are you wounded?" his eyes anxiously scanning d'Artagnan's body with the the knowing eyes of a medic.

Trying to sit up, the Gascon was quickly stopped by his brother's hands.

"I need to know where you are hurt, mon ami," he asked again.

Now that he was awake, d'Artagnan was increasingly aware of a throbbing that was insistently making itself known.

"Shoulder," he said.

Aramis automatically rose, with some difficulty and a grimace that d'Artagnan noticed, causing a frown of worry in his eyes.

"You're injured, too," he said, worry coloring his words as he now began to mimic the medic in scanning his brother's body, as Aramis made his way slowly around to d'Artagnan's other side, as from his first perusal he knew there was nothing on the right shoulder.

Ignoring d'Artagnan's outburst, he squatted down to examine the wound, revealed by the blood staining his doublet shoulder.

"We need to get your doublet off. I cannot see the wound properly to treat it," he said, reaching his hand down to assist d'Artagnan in sitting up.

The Gascon had put his other hand on the ground under himself to help leverage himself into a sitting position. By the time he was, in fact. sitting up, he was panting through the pain.

Betweem them, they got his doublet off, d'Artagnan well aware of the grimaces his brother was unable to completely mask.

He let out a yelp when Aramis' fingers began probing the wound, even though Aramis tried to be as gentle as possible. Then, the fingers stopped, as Aramis said, "I think I can get it out with my fingers. It's close to the surface," and before d'Artagnan could reply, had his fingers in the wound.

D'Artagnan hissed at the intrusion, but tried to remain as still as possible. It didn't take long, and a few moments later, his brother held up a bloody bullet triumphantly.

Next, he pulled some cloths from his medic bag, and wrapped them securely around d'Artagnan's shoulder.

D'Artagnan was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to know something, and asked Aramis again about his injury. Aramis was busily mixing something in a cup, and didn't reply. D'Artagnan knew that his brother was quiet good at hiding injuries and being very stubborn about it, and persisted.

Instead of answering him, Aramis once more hunkered down close to d'Artagnan's side with the cup. "This will take away the pain," he said, handing him the cup.

D'Artagnan was barely finished drinking the vile concoction when his eyelids began to droop. "What did you put in that mixture?" he accused, his words slurring.

"You need rest, d'Artagnan," Aramis replied. "That and a mixture for pain will have you back in good form in no time."

The last thing d'Artagnan was conscious of before falling asleep was his brother holding his side with brows furrowed in pain.

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Now, Aramis set to work on the damage he himself had sustained. Glancing at the sleeping form of his brother, a little smile played around the edges of his mouth. He is just as fierce for out wellbeing as we are, he thought to himself, his fondness for his brother evident in his face. And he is just as stubborn.

Maneuvering himself out of his doublet, he gasped as the movement jarred his wound. At last able to take a look at it, sadness was reflected in his eyes. Well, he thought, I've had a good, long run. I've cheated death so many times. This time, though ... leaving the thought hanging.

He had done as much as he could, after cleaning and bandaging it. But the bullet was in too deep to reach with the simple implements he had. He just hoped there would be no blood poisoning.

His last thought as he stretched out on the ground and succumbed to sleep was, I wonder if we have a chance of Athos and Porthos finding us ... in time.

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OK, this was unexpected. I sat down to write the new idea I had for a story, and this came out. When I started to write, I was figuring maybe a one-shot. Now, I'm not sure how many chapters it will be. It's amazing how inspiration works! Sorry it was so short, but hopefully, the next chapter will be normal length.


	2. Chapter 2

**Earlier**

Athos and Porthos were beyond frustrated. They were beginning to think they had been led on a wild goose chase.

The four brothers had left Paris together, and had been a couple of days' journey to a comte's home to deliver a letter from the King. The letter had been personally put into Athos' hand by the First Minister, who told him they were to guard it well-with their lives, if necessary, the Cardinal had said with a pointed stare..

Athos had given Richelieu a long, hard stare, the Cardinal knowing full well that was part of any undertaking regarding the Royal Family or their property that the Musketeers undertook. Richelieu, after a moment, was the first to look away. Athos had turned on his heel and almost stalked out of the room, upset that he had let Richelieu get under his skin, something he rarely let happen.

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They had ridden out of the garrison early the next morning. It was a beautiful autumn day. The leaves on the trees were just starting to turn color, the reds, golds and oranges of the leaves brightening the day.

The beauty surrounding them brought out the lightheartedness of all four of them, and they began teasing each other and telling tall tales to while away the hours of the journey.

"Maybe the comte will be so pleased to hear from the King that he will give us a delicious supper for our troubles," Porthos commented, patting his stomach in anticipation.

"More likely he will have us sent around to the back door, where his man of business will take the letter, and tell us to cool our heels in the barn until his master composes a reply to bring back to Louis," Aramis said. Porthos' face fell at the death of his dream, as Aramis grinned.

Athos and d'Artagnan just listened in silence, enjoying the bantering and teasing that relieved the boredom of a long ride on horseback.

Athos just wanted to finish their mission and get back to Paris. D'Artagnan wanted to get back, as well, but his thoughts were focused on seeing Constance again.

Two days' journey out, Aramis began to get a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. As discreetly as possible, he began to scan the treeline to see if he might see movement there. His brothers, atuned to each other as they were, noticed Aramis' scanning right away, and joined him in trying to detect anything unusual that might have triggered Aramis' feeling. They knew how many times their brother's sense of danger had saved their lives. Aramis had barely registered the glint of a metal coming from the darkness of the trees on the side of the road before several heavily-armed, hooded men burst out onto the road, attacking as they came.

After several minutes of intense fighting, Aramis managed to signal Athos and Porthos that he and d'Artagnan would hold them off while they continued on to the comte's lands.

Athos had to make quick decision. He understood that Aramis was right, the letter couldn't fall into enemy hands. It was their duty to protect it at all costs. But these were his brothers. He loved them with all his heart, and didn't want to leave them to fight while he and Porthos rode on.

Finally, duty had won out after Aramis had tried again as he had continued to fight furiously with the bulky, hooded man in front of him. . Porthos didn't want to leave either, and was rather insistent. Athos just mouthed one word, 'duty', and Porthos, with a lingering look back at his brothers, had finally and reluctantly followed him.

AS they rode away, they were somewhat heartened to hear their brothers' furious fighting driving back the hooded men.

The rest of the journey was about a day's distancce, and when they finally caught sight of the turrets of the centuries' old castle where the elderly comte resided, they were relieved. They could finally deliver the letter and get back to the scene of the ambush

The two, the further away they had traveled from their brothers, had felt their anxiety and worry increasing, as they had no idea what final the outcome had been.

They had hoped against hope that Aramis and d'Artagnan had dispatched their unknown foes, and would race to catch up and rejoin their brothers. But there had been no sign of them, no matter how often they had glanced at the road behind them.

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Aramis and d'Artagnan had dispatched their opponents, Aramis finally driving his sword throught the chest of the last one standing. Pulling several long, deep breaths into his lungs now that they had a free moment, he looked over at d'Artagnan, whom he found doing the same thing.

"We need to get moving, d'Artagnan," he said, "I have a gut feeling that they may have reinforcements coming. One of them kept looking to the north as he was fighting, like he might be expecting assistance."

As weary as they were, they nevertheless began moving at a fast pace towards the east, their horses having been frightened by the clashing of swords into bolting. Neither one of them thought their horses were irretrievably lost, however. Their mounts were highly trained, and would head back to the garrison when their panic had worn off. But it meant that Aramis and d'Artagnan had only their own feet for transportation, and couldn't move nearly as fast on foot at on horseback, and their possible pursuers were mounted.

They ran for as long as they could, but after several miles, with no warning, d'ARtagnan simply wilted to the ground, where he lay unmoving.

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 **Present**

Aramis woke when a hand softly began to rub his shoulder. Shrugging it off, he heard a very familiar voice say urgently, "Aramis!" And again, louder, "Aramis!"

Groaning, he reluctantly rolled around to face his brother, not quite completely awake yet, his eyes slightly u nfocused. He looked up through the light rain that had materialized as he was waking up, seeing the frown on his brother's face.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan said his name again, concern fraring anew that his brother was hiding an injury from him, but having no time to act on it now. "Riders are coming."

That woke Aramis up the rest of the way. "Which way?"

D'Artagnan replied, "From the north, the same direction we just came from. I could hear the horses' hooves on the ground when I woke up. They could be some distance away yet, as sound carries when an ear is put to the ground," which they both already knew. "We need to get under cover fast."

Aramis began hurriedly looking around for a likely place that would conceal them adequately, but d'Artagnan spoke again. "There is a cave opening a little ways up that hill," pointing to the incline in back of them. If we can get up there, I can pull some brush over the opening. I just hope nothing is living in there that may resent our intrusion."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Aramis quiped, as he pushed himself to his feet, stifling his reaction to the pain the movement caused him from the sharp eyes of the Gascon.

Moving quickly, they reached the hill and began climbing. Aramis could feel the movement pulling at his wound, but ignored it as best he could. It wasn't easy for d'Artagnan to climb without putting pressure on the shoulder he had injured, but the urgency of the situation fueled their movements now as they both tried to move past the pain to reach the safety of the cave. It didn't help that as they had started to climb, the light smattering of rain that had greeted them after they had awakened had now turned into a downpour.

Finally, they moved into the mouth of the cave, d'Artagnan, who had been brushing over their tracks with a broken tree branch as they moved, turning a smilng face to Aramis.

"Luck is with us! That downpour may have been hard to climb with,but it will have wiped away all our tracks. They won't know where we went now!"

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Once d'Atagnan had pulled the brush over the cave's entrance, he joined Aramis where the marksman was just getting a small fire started. They had figured that no one would be able to see it as far back in the cave as they were, and with the cave entrance covered. D'Artagnan had noticed that Aramis tried to do as much as possible partially turned towards the wall. 'Still trying to hide the winces from his movements', he thought, having just ignored the sharp twinges from his own, as well. 'We're a fine pair,' the ironic thought almost making him smile.

The one thing they didn't have was food or water. That would become a concern their pursuers hung around for very long looking for clues as to where they had gone. D'Artagnan figured he could probably slip out and see about getting them some water and maybe even something to eat once these unknown villains had moved off in another direction. 'If they do,' he cautioned himself.

"How is your shoulder?" Aramis asked.

"Still there," he answered.

Giving him a stern, no-nonsense look, Aramis asked again softly.

"It's sore, especially if I try to do too much with it..."

"Like drag branches around to cover up our presence, and brush to conceal us?" Aramis asked, with a hint of a smile, then looked pointedly at him again.

Giving up, d'Artagnan replied, "It's sore, especially if I try to do too much with it, but I haven't let it stop me," he answered truthfully and with a little hint of stubborness in his voice.

They were silent for awhile, listening for the sounds of horses and riders, but so far it was all silent except for birds singing in the trees.

"Aramis...," d'Artagnan began, only to be stopped short by Aramis, who put up a hand and said, "I'm fine, d'Artagnan."

"You don't look fine, Aramis. You're pale, your hands are trembling off and on. Even though you try to hide it, I see you wincing in pain when you try to do things. Let me..."

Aramis stopped him again. "We don't have the luxury of time for this. The men hunting for us may get here at any moment. They must not hear me sc...," almost betraying himself. But he had already said too much.

D'Artagnan pounced on his words. "I knew it! I knew you were hiding something. Aramis, I need to take care of it. Let me..."

But Aramis had got himself under control once again, and pulled away saying, "I've taken care of it, mon ami. There's nothing more you can do that what I've done already."

But d'Artagnan had picked up on the quiet note of resignation in Aramis' voice, and his worry ratcheted up at it. "Aramis, please...," but all the the begging in the world wouldn't move his brother to give in.

"D'Artagnan, leave it be," said Aramis, his voice holding a hint of anguish, he began moving towards the cave entrance to listen for any signs of horses below.

If d'Artagnan had been concerned before, the worry levels were now consuming him. He loved his brother, and knew Aramis. "Something is seriously wrong,' he thought to himself. He almost sounds like ... like ... he might not make it."

'If he thinks he's going to sacrifice himself to protect me, he doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does. I will help you despite your stubborn self,' he promised silently.

His thoughts were interrupted by Aramis' whispered warning. "They have arrived."

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 ** _We will be getting to who is after them and why a little later, I promise. Thanks for reading!_**


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis cautiously looked down through the brush covering the cave entrance, seeing a group of mounted men, hoods covering their faces, entering the clearing below. They spread out, searching intently all the way to the edges of the open area. The way they were searching gave him hope that they had seen no leftover tracks after the rain, that they were simply searching everything that came across their path in hopes of picking up a trail.

The masks intrigued him. The fact that they were disguising themselves at all could mean that they might be men the Musketeers would know, or maybe could give away who had hired and sent them. He supposed it was possible that they just didn't want anyone to describe them to the authorites if they were caught. But he didn't think this group was out on their own tracking down Musketeers. No, there was money and purpose behind the continued pursuit of them. He continued to have a niggling feeling that wouldn't go away that this was somehow personal.

It seemed like forever that they combed through the clearing. The crouch that Aramis was in to avoid being possibly seen was not doing the wound any good. Off and on stabs of what felt like fire had begun shooting through his side, causing him to stifle gasps from the pain. He could also feel a dampness gradually spreading wider, knowing he was bleeding again. He knew by now that he wasn't fooling d'Artagnan about his condition, but he didn't want to give his Gascon brother a reason to ask about it again. He also didn't want d'Artagnan straining his own wounded shoulder any more than he had to. He knew d'Artagnan was in more pain than he was letting on, too.

What he yearned for and needed was to lie down and give his body more rest than it had recently had, but with their pursuers in the area, that was out of the question.

It was as the hooded men filed out of the clearing and he could finally take a deep breath of relief, that he could feel an overwhelming feeling of dizziness come over him. Looking once more through the brush to ascertain that the men had indeed left, he slowly began to rise to his feet. He got about halfway, before everything faded to black and he slowly crumpled to the ground. As he fell, he vaguely heard his brother's alarmed voice calling his name. Then, he heard nothing at all.

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Athos and Porthos continued to be frustrated. The old comte had insisted that they stay for supper and then overnight, as he said he wouldn't have his return letter for Louis finished until morning.

"We can't lollygaggle around here in luxury while our brothers could be lying wounded and alone," Porthos said to Athos in a furious undertone, when they had closed the door to the elderly nobleman's study behind them. "The old man just wants company. Because he's lonely, he's risking two lives!" not even voicing the 'what if' of their brothers having possibly already lost their lives.

Athos, just as upset as Porthos but far better at concealing it, responded in the same barely-heard tone. "Porthos, I understand, believe me I do. But we would be defying the King were we to take off before we were given the return letter and dismissed by the comte. It is our duty, mon ami, much as we may wish we were elsewhere right now. Aramis and d'Artagnan know that, and would do the same."

"Duty won't have their backs, Athos. And duty won't bring them back if those hooded men kill them or take them off somewhere as captives."

Athos just gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, feeling the same way but knowing nothing else could be done at the moment. He just hoped his brothers had extricated themselves from the attackers and were holed up somewhere safe and in one piece.

Athos and Porthos, in more congenial circumstances, would have enjoyed the lavish supper they were served that evening: beef cooked to tender perfection, lamb in garlic, eggs cut in half and stuffed with peas, oranges or artichokes, a compote for dessert, and a botte le well-aged wine from the comte's extensive cellar. But under the circumstances, they barely noticed what they ate or the opulent surroundings in which they sat. The comte seemed hardly to notice, pleased with having company, and rattling on happily all through dinner. If he had been expecting leisurely conversation based on his comments instead of short replies, he never showed it.

When supper was finally over, the Musketeers politely refused to spend the rest of the evening enjoying the contents of the comte's wine cellar in his study, excusing themselves by saying (hoping it would be a hint to the garrulous comte) that they needed to make an early start back in the morning.

Next morning, getting up and ready early, they found that the comte was already up to see them off. His servants had come to escort them to breakfast, and the comte had given them his finished letter promptly when they had all finished.

"You have brightened the past day for me with your presence," he told them. "I only have one son who almost never visits any more unless he wants an advance on the quarterly funds that I give him. I rarely have visitors. This was a treat to entertain both of you as my guests. Thank you for your patience in indulging me. It has truly been a pleasure. I hope your search for your friends is a successful one. "

The two Musketeers gave him genuine smiles at this. They could hear the heartfelt sentiment in the elderly man's words to them.

Athos took the letter. As they turned to leave, the comte surprised them again with his next words.

"I do not know what has happened in your past, nor will I pry, but I have observed, Athos, that you have an aristocratic manner. well-spoken and knowledgeable. I believe you to be as high-born as myself. May you someday find the peace of heart you are searching for," and turned, walking away when had he finished speaking, obviously not expecting any reply.

Athos and Porthos just looked silently at each other before heading out the massive front entrance to their horses, held in readiness at the bottom of the steps by two of the comte's grooms. The man could read them far better than they had realized. Their respect at his parting words now made the enforced time spent there a little more bearable.

Mounting, they immediately headed off at a gallop in the direction from which they had come, hoping their growing unease would prove unfounded.

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D'Artagnan, when he saw his brother sag silently to his knees and then to the ground, nearly shouted out his name, before at the last moments limiting himself to a quiet call. They believed the men had completely gone, but they still needed to be cautious. Racing the few steps to his brother's side, he gently turned him over, swearing to himself when he saw the blood-drenched doublet.

"I knew it!" he said softly. "Oh, Aramis! Why did you hide this from me?"

As carefully as possible, he eased his brother out of his opened doublet, then his shirt, trying not to disturb the wound any more than possible. It was low on his right side, still sluggishly bleeding.

He didn't want to move Aramis any more but he needed to see if there was an exit wound. Taking him gently by the shoulders, he eased him up and partly over. But even that small of a movement caused an anguished moan from the marksman, whose eys still remained closed. D'Artagnan's shoulder also protested vehemently and painfully at what the Gascon had just forced it to do, but he just tried to ignore it for now. His brother needed him.

When he saw that there was no exit wound, d'Artagnan's shoulders sagged. 'The bullet is still in there,' he said the himself, fear pulling at his heart at the possibility of blood poisoning from having been left in for so long now.

He told himself, 'That bullet has to come out now. You've never removed a bullet 're not a medic. But our medic needs me to be one for him now.'

Taking a deep breath, acknowledging a little fear at the prospect before him, he slowly pulled his main gauche from its sheath, and laid it in the small fire they had made earlier.

Then,he used a small piece he tore from the bottom of his shirt to wipe away as much of the blood as he could, not having any water to use. The cloth was as much as he could do to prepare.

Pulling the glowing red knife from the fire, he turned back to Aramis, only to see his brother's eyes open watching him. When he saw the knife, his eyes widened, but he slowly nodded in resignation.

Aramis could see that d'Artagnan was very apprehensive about what he was about to do. He himself felt that it was too late, but his compassion caused him to say, "You will do fine, d'Artagnan. You've watched me do this more than once. I trust you, mon ami." His voice was so weary and soft, d'Artagnan still hesitated, not wanting to hurt him more.

Aramis slowly lifted a hand to lay on his brother's arm. "Just do it...for me. I trust you," he said again, as his hand fell back to the dirt and his his eyes closed.

D'Artagnan hurriedly laid an ear against his brother's chest, listening for a heartbeat. It startled him when Aramis' voice sounded again. "I'm still here," with the barest hint of humor in his words.

D'Artagnan drew a shuddering breath of relief before finally bringing the knife down to the edges of the wound. He took yet another swift breath before inserting the knife as carefully and gently as possible into the ragged opening, but no amount of carefulness could prevent the cry that came from the wounded man. D'Artagnan froze, hesitant to continue.

Then, he heard Aramis' voice reassuring him. "You're ... doing fine," he whispered, in beween little gasps of breath as he found some inner strength to calm his breathing. D'Artagnan marvelled at that. 'It should be me reassuring him,' thought the Gascon,as he readied the knife once more above the wound.

"U...use your ...fingers," Aramis' voice came again, instructing him. "Easier... to feel wh... where...it is."

'That's why we trust him with our lives,' d'Artagnan thought, as he no sooner switched to his fingers in the wound before he felt the metal of the bullet.

It seemed to be trapped by something,he thought, and he tried several times before finally pulling it free. Aramis' body spasmed several times in spite of his attempting to keep still, as the maneuvering at last resulted in a slightly mangled blood-covered bullet finally leaving his body.

Once the operation succeeded, Aramis seemed to collapse, his head rolling to one side and his body stilling. D'Artagnan once again checked his heart, relieved to hear the slightly unsteady thump.

He realized he still had work to do. Tearing more of his shirt into strips, he bound the wound securely, before leaning back with his hand laying on Aramis' shoulder and taking a shuddering breath of there was no sign of the hooded men having returned. Grateful that the clearing was empty and no sounds of horses or men came to him, he returned to Aramis' side, again checked his heartbeat, then lay down beside him, his hand still laying on his brother's chest. Within moments, he was fast asleep, exhausted both physically and emotionally from the day's events.

The cave's occupants at last could rest in the silence surrounding them.

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Aramis and d'Artagnan were sound asleep when their brothers rode quietly into the clearing a couple of hours later. They had picked up the trail of the hooded men back at the ambush site,and had followed them. Looking around the clearing, everything looked peaceful and quiet. They could see that the men they had been following had searched the clearing by the hoofprints, but no sign of their brothers was to be found. Sighing, they decided to continue tracking the group of riders once more.

After another quick look around to make sure none of group had split up as they had moved out, they left the clearing, totally unaware of their hidden, sleeping brothers some distance above them in the cave on the hill.


	4. Chapter 4

D'Artagnan and Aramis slept for hours. D'Artagnan finally awoke, groggy and slightly disoriented at first. Wisely, he stayed prone for a little while, until he fially felt more himself. He lay there thinking.

He knew food and water were going to become a major survival problem if they stayed hiden in the cave for much longer, but he knew Aramis was not yet in any shape to travel very far.

He decided he would wait for his brother to awaken on his own, and then he would try reconnoitering the area for something to eat and drink. With all the lush greenery in the area, it told him there had to be water fairly close by. He just needed to find it. And where there was water, either an animal could visit it for their its needs and he might then find a way to kill it, or if he had to, he could try spearing a fish by sharpening a branch from one of the trees.

Sitting down again next to his slumbering brother, he gently threaded his fingers through Aramis' hair.

Who was after him? he silently asked himself. He didn't have any idea if Athos or Porthos had noticed, but he sure had. The men who had ambushed them seemed to all have their eyes trained on Aramis while they had been fighting. What did they want with his friend, he wondered.

They had already come much too close to ending his life. Why? For what reason? And had they been hired by someone to do it, and again, if so, what for?

Aramis was beginning to stir now, his eyes moving under his lids.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan called softly. "Are you with me now?"

After another few moments, the marksman's eyes sleepily opened. Blinking a few times, they gradually sharpened their focus on d'Artagnan.

"Where...," he began.

Then, before d'Artagnan could respond, his eyes suddenly widened as his memory came back.

D'Artagnan saw the recognition slowly return. "Yes," he said. "We slept for a very long time. But we obviously needed it. "

Aramis slowly nodded his head, his senses gradually returning to normal. The pounding headache that had accompanied his awakening had dulled his sensees, but it was receding now.

"Yes, I believe we did," he at last said. "They've gone then?"

"Yes, for now," the Gascon replied. "But we have no way of knowing if they are gone for good. If they don't find any trail to pick up, they may eventually double back."

"We should probably try getting to ..."

D'Artagnan interrupted him, speaking softly. "Aramis, you are in no condition to travel. You ..."

"I will be f ..."

He interrupted him once more. "No, you're not, mon ami. You lost a lot of blood while you were trying to conceal that wound, and instead took care of me," guilt still eating away at him that he hadn't insisted more on looking at his brother's wound.

Aramis was quiick to change the direction of the conversation, never liking to focus on anything that was wrong with himself. "I need to take a look at your sh ..."

D'Artagnan fondly frustrated by the familiar attempt to change the subject, smiled almost sternly as he said, "Aramis, you do realize you nearly died, don't you?"

It wasn't often that Aramis was forced to focus on his injuries, as he was so good at dissembling, but he now nodded his head slowly.

"Aramis, I'm going to go out and see about finding us some water and food. I won't be gone very long. I don't want this to become any more desperate than it is already, and food and water will enable us to continue to use this cave for a while longer, hopefully until Athos and Porthos find us," not knowing just how close their brothers had already been.

"We can both go," Aramis suggested, only for d'Artagnan to remind him once again of his condition, something his brother never wanted to let get in the way of his doing something.

D'Artagnan told him, "Aramis, you have no idea how awful I feel that I wasn't able to take care of you sooner. I will have to live with the fact of your almost dying, but in turn, I want you to promise me you will stay put while I'm out...please?"

Knowing when he was defeated, Aramis finally nodded his head, but his eyes gave him away. He hated feeling helpless, and having others do for him. But he could hear the plea in his brother's voice, and so acquiesced to his request. He couldn't help the big sigh that came almost immediatley afterwards, though.

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D'Artagnan left the cave, carefully arranging the brush over the entrance, then made his way down the hill, half sliding as he went until he reached the forest floor.

Still cautious, he walked around the outskirts of the clearing, finding everything calm and peaceful.

He stood a moment, deciding which way would be the most likely for him to find water. Nothing gave him a clue, so he just went straight ahead of where he was.

Winding his way through the trees, his eyes searched for any glimpse of blue, but there was nothing. He was almost ready to try another direction, when he heard a small, gurgling sound. 'Water,' he said to himself with an accompanying smile.

A few yards further on, through the trees and brush he saw a small winding creek. Reaching it in moments, he slid down the dirt bank, wincing as his bottom came into contact with various pebbles and stones embedded in the dirt. He didn't care. Reaching the water, he almost joyfully scooped some up into his hands and drank thirstily.

Next, he got out the bowl he had fashioned from a piece of wood, and scooped up enough water to fill it to the brim.

Laying it aside, he crouched down and waited, hoping maybe a rabbit or even a squirrel might come for water. But the longer he weaited, the more discouraged he got, partially spoiling his earlier happiness.

He didn't want to be gone from Aramis for too long, so he headed back with the precious water.

He found Aramis watching at the entrance. When his brother was handed the bowl of water, d'Artagnan grinned at the smile it produced.

When Aramis had finished, d'Artagnan told him, "I'm going to hollow out a larger bowl and also refill this one. I might be gone a little longer this time, as I can fish in the creek. If I spear a couple, we can have some dinner tonight. Do you think you could try to get a little more rest while I'm gone?"

Aramis said he wasn't really tired, even though d'Artagnan could see dark circles under his eyes, so he said again, "Would you try for me?" before leaving again.

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Athos and Porthos continued to follow the trail, never realizing they had come so close to finding their brothers.

They continued until dusk, when it became too difficult to follow the tracks. They were exhausted, as well, so they decided to make camp for the night, well back from the men they had been following.

They got no further than dismounting from their horses, however, when they heard the familiar and ominous sound of a pistol being cocked. They both tried reaching for their own weapons, figuring their opponents didn't have much daylight to take a clean and accurate shot. But when they heard several more weapons being cocked at various points around the clearing,they froze, knowing they were in trouble.

"I would take your hands away from your weapons, if you don't want your heads blown off," a disembodied voice called from the darkness to their left.

Knowing they didn't have a choice, both Musketeers followed the order.

Several hooded men came out of the woods, guns trained on Athos and Porthos. Two of them got a fire going, while the leader, in plain sight now, came forward and stared at the Musketeers.

When the fire was lit, he finally sauntered up to them. "What do we have here?" he asked, looking around at his men. "I think we caught us a pair of Musketeers," laughing as he said it. Athos was giving the man a long hard look now, as he recognized something about the voice he was hearing.

The leader circled them, slowing looking them up and down, as he continued to speak. "Maybe you would like to tell us where your friends are?" Seeing the looks of disbelief from both of his captives, he laughed.

"Oh, you will tell us. It's just a matter of time, and ..." He hesitated, obviously enjoying the control he had of the situation. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. You will not like our methods, but I can assure you, we will have the answers we want. You just may not feel very well when we finish," nodding to his men.

Athos and Porthos were quickly bound hand and foot after being situated in the center of the camp, surrounded by six very menacing hooded men, and unpleasantly aware of what would probably come next.

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D'Artagnan had been in luck after he returned to the creek. He had used the sharpened end of the branch he had readied, and gone fishing. It hadn't taken long to spear four nice-sized fish, and silently rejoiced to have had such luckthat day.

Wrapping the fish in leaves, he found a way hold them under his arm, so he would have his hands free for the two bowls of water he was bringing, as well. The sharp stick was under his other arm, as he could use it again the next day.

When he reached the bottom of what he was coming to think of as 'their hill', he laid the fish down so that he could carry the bowls up first.

He got both of them to the cave entrance without a problem, then laid them down carefully while he removed the brush once again.

Ducking his head as he came in through the low entrance, he looked around for Aramis. His brother ws lying on his back halfway across the cave. But d'Artagnan froze as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Aramis was lying almost rigidly still. His eyes, wide and staring, were fixed on his chest, where a large snake was lying poised to strike.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sorry, it's not a very long chapter today. Too much happening this past week. Thanks for reading!**_

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D'Artagnan was moving towards Aramis before he even paused to think about what to do, moving solely on instinct. The hewn-down branch gripped tightly in his hands, his eyes were solely on his brother and the reptile currently threatening his life.

The snake, brown with a dark zigzag stripe pattern running the length of its body above a line of oval spots, was still poised to strike. The Gascon was familiar with this type of snake, having encountered them on his family's farm a time or two. An adder, it was easily irritated, and often struck without warning if it was startled or upset.

When he got within strking distance, his eyes shifted to Aramis' own for a brief second, then he swung the branch in a swift, sweeping motion directly at the snake. Hoping he could avoid any contact with Aramis, he violently flinched when he felt his makeshift weapon briefly come into contact with his brother's prone body, even as his makeshift weapon lifted the snake high into the air and propelled it to slam against the back wall of the cave.

Not daring to hesitate first and see to his brother, he followed the snake's path, finding it still moving after it had dropped to the ground, although sluggishly. He quickly used the pointed edge of the branch to put an end to its life, cutting off its head just to make sure.

Not wasting a moment, he raced back to Aramis, who was now curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around his middle, and his breathing still accelerated from the deadly encounter.

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"Now, which one of you wants to volunteer to go first?" the hooded leader smirked, obviously immensely enjoying having two Musketeers at his mercy. Complete silence and two deadly glares were his reply.

"Come, come, I thought all you Musketeers were brave and fearless, ready for anything," he said, "Hmmm?"

The hoods were so all-encompassing that all Athos could see of the man were the two glittering eyes, with a hint of amusement in them. What kind of man finds something like this enjoyable, he wondered.

The man's voice was beginning to nag at Athos' mind. He was starting to think he had heard the voice before. Where? he asked himself. Are these men hooded because we have had dealings with them in the past? Someone, perhaps, with a lingering grudge? Or are they hooded to protect the person paying them to do this?

The man walked closer to Athos, leaning down and getting in his face as he continued. "Not feeling arrogant today, Athos?" smiling when Athos' head shot up when his name was used. "Oh, yes, we know all about you four. The Inseparables. Not so close now, are you? Didn't take much to separate the Inseparables, did it?" laughing at his own joke.

The man's knowledge of his name told Athos he had been right in thinking he might know them, or at least the leader. And whoever this man was, he obviously harbored a deep resentment against the Musketeers, feeling this was his chance to pay them back for whatever slight he had received in the past.

The man was talking again. "To show you how fair I can be, I will give you a second chance to tell me where your 'brothers' are, saying the word 'brothers' in a tone of disgust.

When silence continued to answer him, he grew impatient, snarling, "I've never got my hands on a nobleman before. This should be interesting to see how long you hold out under my persuasion," nodding to his men.

Grabbing Athos under his arms to pull him to his feet, the men found dead weight, as Athos wasn't about to make it easy for them, dragging heels in the dirt.

The leader spoke up yet again, nodding as he did so to one of his men. "You will find out very quickly that I do not tolerate resistance." Athos heard a pistol being cocked, and knew he would find it aimed at his brother. Glancing back, he saw that it was pressed against Porthos' forehead.

Athos relaxed his body, allowing the two men to lift and drag him over to one of the trees ringing the clearing they were in.

A rope was thrown over a branch above his head, and he was turned to face the tree trunk. Cutting the rope tying his wrists behind his back, his arms were brought forward and tied instead in front of him. Then, they were stretched above his head and knotted to the rope hanging down.

"Nice to know cocking a pistol garners your attention. My Lord."

Again, the reference to his former way of life. Not that many people knew about the life he had given up. Who was this man?

The man, moving so quietly that Athos had not heard him coming, was in his face again. "I will be generous again. The flat or the point?"

Athos, refusing to play the man'sw game, uneasily thought he really didn't want to know.

"Cat got your tongue? Or can't decide between the two?" the man almost purred. "Let me decide for you."

That was all the warning Athos had before a white-hot pain invaded his back. It took all his willpower to keep from giving his tormenter the satisfaction of drawing any reaction from him.

And again, the voice taunted him, "Have you an answer to my question yet? Or we can try the point next."

At Athos' silence, he learned what 'the point' meant, unable this time to hold back the scream that tore out of him.

Distantly, he heard an angry roar, and a voice shouting, "Leave him alone, you animals!"

Then, everything faded to black.

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D'Artagnan knelt down close beside his Aramis, speaking softly to him, anguish coloring each word. "I'm so sorry, Aramis. I tried to avoid hitting you. I didn't..."

Aramis, voice full of pain, interrupted him gently, "D'Artagnan..."

D'Artagnan continued as if he hadn't heard him, still wrapped in his perceived guilt. "I just didn't have time to gauge the swing, and I..."

Aramis' voice cut in again, trying to stem his apology once more.

"You saved my life, mon ami. If you...hadn't come in...time..." his own vivid remembrance of waking up to the horror of the reptile, fangs openand ready to strike, making catch his breath at his close escape. "Thank you from...the bottom of...my heart," taking one of the arms wrapped around his torso away to place it on d'Artagnan's.

D'Artagnan' head came up then. Looking into the sincerity of his brother's brown eyes, and seeing Aramis' concern for him written in them, he slowly turned the hand Aramis had covered with his own, squeezing gently.

They stayed that way a short while, each winding down from the experience they had been through. Then, d'Artagnan asked Aramis, "Will you let me check you out-where my stick hit?"

In reply, Aramis slowly rolled again onto his back, and laid his arms at his sides out of d'Artagnan's way, freely giving his brother access.

As d'Artagnan slowly lifted linen shirt, Aramis said, "I don't believe there is anything broken."

His torso exposed, d'Artagnan saw a large area over Aramis' ribcage with deep, dark bruising, thinking 'that has to be painful even if nothing's broken'. Using the tips of his fingers, he gently began exploring to see if their were any broken bones. Aramis couldn't stifle a groan even at the careful touch. D'Artagnan didn't feel anything out of place, even though the whole area was painful when touched.

Next, he decided to check out the wound in his brother's side while Aramis was being so unusually compliant. He finally was able to let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding until then.

Aramis heard it and smiled, teasing him and saying, "I've live then?"

"When Athos and Porthos tease you next time about having nine lives, I will have vivid memories of this coming back through my mind. You really were lucky, Aramis."

"Someone watches over me," Aramis replied, sending his eyes heavenward in silent thanks, his deep faith knowing why he was still alive, and knowing d'Artagnan had been given the skills to save his life not once, but twice.

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 _ **I found this information when I googled for poisonous snakes found in France. The common adder lives in most European countries, including France and part of Asia. It can come in a variety of colors. Males are light brown to gray, and females can be yellow to brown or even brick red. Some are all black, and most of them have a dark zigzag stripe pattern running down their bodies above a line of oval spots. It also has a distinctive "x" or "v" black mark on its head. It has a reputation for being irritable and sometimes will strike without warning when startled or handled. Its venom is haemotoxic, which destroys blood cells and causes tissue damage.**_


	6. Chapter 6

When d'Artagnan had finished taking care of Aramis, they both finally lay down to sleep. They were incredibly exhausted, almost as much mentally as physically.

Both the them were very concerned about their brothers. Unknown to each other, though, both of them were thinking much the same thoughts, worry causing them to lay awake long into the night. They had no idea where Athos and Porthos were now.

Had they delivered the letter? Had the nobleman insisted they stay a day in order for him to have time to compose a letter of reply to the King? Even in the event that they had, they should have reached the original location of the attack already.

But Athos and Porthos would have had no way to pick up their brothers' trail. D'Artagnan knew he was very good at wiping away all traces of footprints. His father, who had been acknowledged by men in the area where their farm had been located to be an expert, had often told his son that he had mastered and passed his own skills.

Had the hooded men been lying in wait for their brothers? Were they even now captive in the hands of that evil band? They had no way of knowing. Athos and Porthos hopefully hadn't run into any other problems in their journey.

D'Artagnan, his senses finally almost at rest now, hoped both brothers were well and just searching diligently for them as he fell asleep at last.

Aramis at length fell asleep , too, having given his brothers into the Lord's hands to protect and guide them in safety.

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Water hit his face, rudely awakening him once again. Athos' eyes opened as the other times to the grinning face of his tormentor. The man seemed to be immensely enjoying himself.

"Shall we begin again?" he heard, the same phrase thrown at him each time he had passed out.

His back was now littered with the marks of his ordeal. Athos could feel every place where the knife had landed-his own main gauche used against him. Even now, he could imagine its handle jutting out from the campfire, its blade once again being reheated.

Porthos! Worry for his brother caused his head to fly up, twisting his neck to search for his brother. Finding him, their eyes locked in silent unity.

Porthos was now sitting against a large tree, his arms stretched and tied around its trunk. The leader must have grown tired of Porthos' heated defense of his brother, as a rag had been shoved into his mouth, and tied there with another piece of cloth. But if looks could kill...

The leader got in Athos' face again. "I'm disappointed...disappointed, but not surprised. You noblemen are all alike. Strutting around like you own everything, but buckling under at the least stress."

Walking around his helpless victim, his smile increased. "Shall we try again?"

Strutting over to the fire, he pulled a cloth out of his pocket to draw the knife out, then turned back to Athos.

"Where should we play this time?" he mused aloud. "Do you have a preference maybe? Or would you like to give me the answer to my question, and then maybe I will let you two worthless dogs live?...No? And as he said the word, the blade's flat side hissed as it once more made contact with Athos' back.

Not able to help himself, Athos' body arched away from the blade, a groan escaping as he did so.

"Oh, we have all the time in the world, and you're not going anywhere, now are you?" the point making contact this time.

As Athos distantly heard Porthos futile struggles nearby, his world was consumed by the fire ignited anew behind him.

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Treville was starting to get a little worried. Sitting behind his desk taking care of the seemingly never-ending paperwork that fell to him as the Captain of the Musketeers, his mind kept returning to the whereabouts of his four best Musketeers.

They should have been back by now, he thought. It was a simple, there and back mission.

His mind began to run through the possibilities. Did the nobleman take an extraordinary amount of time writing a reply? Did one of their horses throw a shoe, or have an injury over unexpectedly rough roads? Has one of his mem become ill? Or maybe bandits attacked?

The more the list went on, the more he convinced himself he should take several men and ride out to make sure they were all right. This was not like them. There was a reason he considered them (privately, of course) as his best men. He felt he needed to back them up now, if he found out that they might need it.

Having made his decision, he rose and strode rapidly across the room to his office door. Going out on the landing, he shouted down to Pascal, telling him to choose four more men, and prepare horses and enough supplies for at least four days' journey. Then, he told him to have everything ready in one hour, the veteran's eyebrows going up at that last command.. Going back into his office, he sat down and wrote a brief note to be taken to the palace for Louis and Richelieu, informing them of his impending departure.

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In an underground chamber down in the bowels of Paris, a man smothered in a dark cape, a wide-brimmed dark pulled down over his eyes, met to report on the progress of his assignment. Dank walls surrounded the two men, their words echoing down the passageway. But there was no one but them to hear the words exchanged. The dark made it hard to see each other, but that didn't seem to matter to either of them.

"So, you are telling me that everything is going according to my wishes?"

"It will be done as you instructed. We had a couple of minor problems, but nothing for you to worry about," the hired man replied nervously, knowing plans had not been able to be carried out as this powerful man wanted yet, but not wanting to be the bearer of news that might turn the man's anger against him.

"I do not worry. I act. Now, return to your leader and tell him to finish your assignment. I will not be pleased if it fails. You will incur my wrath in that event. Do you understand?"

Already turning to leave, the man gulped, and responded quietly, "Yes, Eminence," before fading into the shadows once more.

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Darkness had fallen over the hooded men's campsite. Their leader had finally walked away from his victim, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. "I have to give you a little credit, much as it pains me to do so. You actually held out against me today. But it will avail you nothing." He paused, sure of his captive audience's attention.

"You have won nothing. Tomorrow, we try a new victim." At these words, Athos' heart clenched. No, not his brother! Over his dead body, he silently promised to himself, if his plan didn't work.

His tormentor signalled to two of his men, then strolled away, making himself comfortable on a blanket on the other side of the fire.

The two men who had been summoned cut Athos down at last, his body limply plummeting to the ground, landing hard because he had no way to break his fall with hands numb from the ropes. Figuring the Musketeer was in too bad a shape to again tie his hands in back of him, they dragged him over near Porthos and moved away to their own blankets to sleep.

Porthos ,still gagged and tied to the tree, tried to reach Athos with the tip of his boot, but failed. He was worried sick over his brother's condition and the fact that he lay unmoving where he had been dropped, and was helpless to give him any aid.

Athos lay utterly still for over an hour, curled up on his side. Then, emitting a soft groan, he at last moved. Maneuvering himself slowly and painfully, he began to reach downwards.

Porthos was at first mystified. What was he doing? But he continued to watch him. When it at last dawned on him where Athos was trying to reach, his heart started to hammer.

Athos at last reached his boot, where he with bound hands slowly and awkwardly pulled out a long, thin stiletto, something he and Aramis often carried with them on their mission. None of their captors had bothered to pull off their boots to check them for weapons. For some reason, boots were often left unchecked, which was exactly the reason why his brothers used the trick so often. He made a silent promise to adopt his brothers' idea from now on, though.

Athos was now sawing slowly away at the ropes binding him, being extra cautious that no one saw his movements. But it seemed that they were considered as not worthy of guarding in the condition they were in, so everyone remained asleep. Athos couldn't believe how naive, or maybe stupid, the band was to leave them untended, but he was thankful, as it made their chances much better.

The ropes finally gave under the knife, and Athos flexed numb hands over and over bring feeling back into them. Then, he slowly crawled over to Porthos, and a few moments later, he was also free.

"How...," Porthos softly began, only for Athos to signal him to silence.

Moving slowly and cautiously, they located their horses, and began moving towards them. It took them a while, as Athos wasn't able to move very quickly. But their turned-around luck was still holding, and none of their captors awakened.

Reaching the horses at last, Porthos undid the rope corraling them, and patted their rears, moving them slowly away. The horses kept moving, for which they silently gave thanks. Their captors would hopefully find that all their horses were long gone and not be able to pursue them for a little while, giving them a chance at an easier escape. Porthos lifted Athos onto Roger's bare back. He then mounted behind him, putting an arm protectively around his brother's waist for support.

They had ridden away from the camp and a short ways down the road, when they heard a cry of alarm from behind them. Their escape had been discovered! Porthos kicked Roger's sides to urge him faster til they were galloping down the old dirt track, hoping the men behind them had no luck getting their horses back quickly.

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Earlier that same afternoon, Aramis awoke with a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. Knowing how many times that feeling had saved he and his brothers over the years, he rose as quietly as he could to check things out. He wanted d'Artagnan to get as much sleep as he could, as the Gascon had tirelessly taken care of him the past few days despite an injury of his own, and he figured he must be dead tired by now.

He could feel the pain shoot through his side, and the sharp ache across his ribs, as soon as he began moving his body. As he so often did, drawing the ire of his brothers, who would understandably get upset at his hiding his pain, he ignored the signs of just how unwell he actually was.

Moving over to the entrance of the cave, he saw that it was almost twilight, the sun slowly moving its way downwards. But his breath caught in his throat, his heart clenching up as he found the source of the sense of danger.

As he crouched lower and watched, he saw a group of riders enter the clearing below him-hooded and moving cautiously-as if they were hunting something-them.


	7. Chapter 7

As Aramis continued to silently watch, the hooded men, now dismounted, spread out and began going over every part of the clearing.

Were they just going back over all the places hey had already searched, hoping they had missed something, or had they come back on a hunch after talking things over with each other, he wondered.

He had no idea, but he and d'Artagnan were unarmed, wounded and without horses, so it behooved them to keep as silent as possible, and hope their hideout remained hidden well enough that it would escape notice.

Just as it looked like they were coming to the end of their search, they started to build a campfire, pulling supplies from their saddlebags. Hanging them over the campfire in a pot they also produced, they squatted around the fire and waited for their midday meal to heat.

After they had eaten, Aramis hoped that they would be finished in the area and move on. But they spread out more,and continued searching.

Aramis glanced back from time to time to make sure d'Artagnan wasn't beginning to stir, but he was still sound asleep, for which he was very grateful.

Finally, after what seemed to take forever, the men met back in the middle of the clearing, mounted, and slowly rode out of the clearing.

Once they were out of sight, the marksman took a deep breath, letting it out slowly in relieft. The feeling of helplessness was not one he had felt very often, and definitely didn't like. He sent up a silent prayer that his other brothers would find them soon.

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Athos and Porthos continued at a fast pace down the road, listening for sounds of pursuit behind them. Their luck held for another couple of miles, but almost inevitably, their pursuers could be heard thundering behind them.

Porthos' attention was divided. Guiding their mount one-handedly, his other was wrapped around his semi-conscious brother, Athos' full weight now leaning over his arm. Glancing down, Porthos sadly saw eyes closed against a deathly pale face.

They had no other option than to continue the way they were going. There were no side roads to veer off onto, and nothing presented itself as a possible hiding place.

The sounds of their enemies behind them were growing closer now, as the Musketeers were at a disadvantage riding two to a horse, which slowed them down.

His hearing fixed on what was happening behind them, Porthos didn't at first notice a new sound. When he did, he almost despaired. There was now the distinct sound of a group of riders coming their way from in front of them! How could the riders have split and tried to sandwich them on this narrow road? He had already observed that there were no other trails, no possible diversions.

Glancing down at his now completely unconscious brother, he vowed silently, "I will defend you with my bare hands with the last ounce of my blood."

He stopped the horse and as gently and yet as quickly as he could, maneuvered Athos down and carried him to the nearest tree. Athos was still unconscious, and unare of their danger. Laying him on the ground in front of it, he positioned himself in front of him and waited.

But the riders coming around the bend from in front of him were the last things he expected to see.

Flinging his hands high over his head, he got up to his feet, shouting, "Captain!," with a smile of pure joy on his face now.

"Porthos!" Treville responded, leaping down from his horse almost before he had halted it and moving rapidly to his man's side. Worry filled his face as he beheld Athos' bloody body lying so still on the groun before him. "What happened to him?"

Porthos filled him in, short and to the point.

Treville turned and called to one of the men with him. "Bernard just joined us a few days ago. He has had a bit of medical experience on the battlefield as a makeshift medic in the infantry. Had no idea it would be needed so quickly."

The man got to work quickly on Athos. As luck would have it, Athos began to regain consciousness right after he started, as much as they wished he hadn't. They had no wish to put him through more agony than he was already in. A deep groan alerted them that he was back with them.

"Athos," Treville said softly. "You're safe now," trying to reassure him.

Blinking rapidly, half-awake and his face showing his confusion, Athos said in a barely audible voice, "Captain?"

"Yes, Athos. You're safe. Let my man treat your back. Just lie still. He will take care of you."

"Aramis?" Athos' voice held a note of deserate hope that it was his missing brother his captain had brought with him.

"No, Athos, this is Bernard. But he has a little experience. Let him take care of you, please." Athos' face fell when he heard that Aramis hadn't been found yet. Athos, even half-conscious, knew that if he had been, no one would have had a chance to take care of him but the marksman.

Bernard, a wiry, dark-haired man in his thirties, worked as quickly and gently as he was able, cleaning the mess that the dagger had made. He had no sooner touched Athos back, however, when the injured swordsman groaned, letting out his breath in a hiss from the pain.

When Bernard immediately stopped, he said, "S...Sorry. Continue," closing his eyes in preparation to enduring it. Bernard finished cleaning the wounds, spreading a salve on them and then bandaging got his own spare shirt from his saddlebad, and he and Porthos carefully put it on Athos, laying him back down on his side when they were finished.

Afterwards, Bernard asked Porthos, "What did they do to him?"

Porthos filled him in and Bernard, even having been a veteran soldier, blanched.

Porthos added, "But he never gave his brothers away, any more than we would have done so."

Walking a short distance away from his brother with Treville, Porthos said, "Captain, we need to find Aramis and d'Artagnan. We have no idea if these men were the only ones sent, or if they are part of a bigger group. They are in great danger."

"We will, we will, Porthos," Treville reassured him. "Re-arm yourself from our supplies, and get an hour's rest. Bernard will take Athos to the nearest village and get a room for him at an inn. Then, we ride."

But he had reckoned without the sharp hearing of his lieutenant stubbornly hanging on to consciousness. When Treville had finished speaking, a very weak voice spoke up.

"I am...coming...with you to...find A...Aramis and d'Artagnan."'

Treville and Porthos were completely startled, turning to find Athos trying to push himself up to a sitting position.

Porthod deferred to Treville to answer Athos. Treville spoke softly, but firmly. "Athos, do you have any idea how badly you are injured? You won't even be able to sit on a horse, much less ride. And you would risk your back starting to bleed again. Just go with Bernard to an inn, and let us..."

He didn't get any further, as Athos spoke up again, quietly but adamant in his objection to being left behind. "Whether I accompany you or obtain a horse at some inn, I will continue the search for my brothers. There is a reason we say 'one for all', Captain."

Treville was silent for a few momentws. He greatly repected his Inseparables, and knew how much they loved each other, realizing it had to be Athos' own decision.

Looking Athos in the eyes, he said, "I will not order you not to come. But we will be riding hard, Athos. You, more than anyone else, know if you think you can do it. We will be leaving in one hour. Please get a little rest."

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An hour later they rode out, with one minor adjustment. Athos was again riding with Portho. Porthos, sometimes could be just as stubborn and insistent as his brothers. He had spoken to Athos privately later after Treville had spoken, and told his brother that if he caused them to halt from searching for Aramis and d'Artagnan, he was going to be very upset. Then, he told Athos that he wouldn't be upset, as long as he agreed to continue riding in front of himself, like they had previously been doing.

Porthos could tell Athos was not happy to agree to his proposal, but he didn't care. He intended to bring all of his brothers home again in one piece, one way or the other. If threatening to be angry with Athos would cause him to give in, then he would use the fact to protect him from the risk of further injury. A little smile playing about the corners of his mouth, he urged his horse forward as they set off on their search.

They had decided to retrace their way back along the same trail Athos and Porthos had come before they were captured first. Maybe they might find a clue to go on that they had missed before.

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Aramis stayed at the cave opening to make sure the men didn't return. He had been gradually becomnig more and more lightheaded for some time now, and his body had grown more shaky.

Finally convinced that the men weren't returning, Aramis, who was exhausted and fighting himself to stay awake, got slowly to his feet to head back and join d'Artagnan in getting some more sleep, only he didn't make it that far. After three or four steps, dizziness overcame him and, without a sound, his knees buckled. He was out before he even hit the ground.

That is where d'Artagnan found him an hour later when he awoke. Alarm overwhelmed him when he saw his brother face down in the dirt. Rolling him over, he checked his pulse. He calmed down when he found it, even though it was a little erratic.

He lifted him a little, settling him into a more comfortable position. Then, he checked the wound in his side, finding it a little inflamed. Probably from lying on the dirt, he thought, with not even a blanket to use. Tearing another strip from his already ripped shirt, he used a little of the water he had brought up the day before to clean the wound area. Then, he re-wrapped it. Aramis never stirred the whole time he worked on him.

He decided when Aramis woke up again, he would put one of the fish he had caught the day before on a thin branch, so they would have a halfway decent meal in their stomachs two days in a row. Maybe they would regain a little of their strength. He might even see if he could find some berries later, too, to go with the fish.

Heading over to the cave entrance, he had just pulled the branches aside, when he froze, hearing horses approaching. Looking out, he saw horses entering the clearing, ridden by men in hoods.

He no sooner thought to himself 'not again!', when he heard a voice say, "Well, well, well. What have we here. A hiding place!" seeing the man's face lifted and looking directly at their now-revealed hiding place.


	8. Chapter 8

As d'Artagnan attempted to slip further back into the darkness of the cave, he froze at the distinct sound of a musket's trigger being cocked.

Then, the mocking voice called out again, "I wouldn't move if I were you, Musketeer. My man is very good with a musket, you see, and you will be without a head if he sees any movement. Now, without going to your injured friend, you will wake him up and invite him to join our little party. NOW!"

He hated having to awaken Aramis to this scenario, but was helpless ot do anything else at the moment.

"Aramis!" he called softly, trying to hopefully bring his brother to consciousness gently.

"You will have to do better than that, boy," he heard. "I want him at the cave entrance in five minutes. I do not have all day."

Sighing, d'Artagnan called out in a much louder voice. "Aramis!"

He heard a slight stirring from behind him now.

He knew he didn't dare take a chance and try attempt to warn Aramis of the men down below, not when he was the target of a musket. But he was heartsick. He still believed Aramis to be the focus of this rather large group of men, who were now hunting them broken down into smaller groups probably over a wide area. He didn't want them to be able to lay hands on him for whatever nefarious purpose they had been hired for.

Aramis' voice, still somewhat groggy, called out behind him, the tone confused. "D'Artagnan, is everything ...all right?"

D'Artagnan started to say, "There are men...," and was pointedly interrupted.

"So you are finally awake. Join your friend at the cave entrance now! His life depends on your following orders, and I will not give them twice."

Aramis' face registered his shock at the unexpected voice, but he stayed silent at the implied threat to his brother's life.

D'Artagnan heard the slow movement of Aramis as he lifted himself from the dirt of the cave's floor on which he lay, and then hesitantly moving to the entrance, finally arriving next to d'Artagnan.

The voice continued. "So it's true what I was told about the four of you. You do care deeply for each other. This is going to be easier than I thought. All I have to do is threaten one of you to get complete obedience from the other one."

Aramis and d'Artagnan's eyes met in silence, each wondering who had hired them and had supplied them with that information. They were in a whole lot of trouble. They already knew they were unable to communicate with each other verbally, and knew the place they stood now was the one and only way of coming and going from the cave. They were trapped.

The increasingly irritating voice below them began again. "You, boy, will stay exactly where you are. Aramis will come down here and join us if he wants you to stay in one piece. NOW!"

D'Artagnan's panic level went into overdrive as his injured brother dragged himself over to the edge of the hill the cave was situated on, wavering as he went. He finally came to a dead stop at the sharp drop to the bottom.

There's no way he can make that descent, d'Artagnan thought, as Aramis fumbled his way over the edge, clinging for dear life for a moment to the rocky surface underneath his scrabbling fingertips.

Ordinarily, Aramis would climb down with no fear whatever. His fear was always for others, especially his brothers. But in the present situation with his injury and increasing bodily weakness, he would have been a fool not to feel a little trepidation at his climb down the rocks of the hill.

About a third of the way down, it finally happened. D'Artagnan was a little surprised that it hadn't occurred earlier. Aramis' foot slid over a protruding rock instead of being able to plant his booted foot firmly down.

He suddenly found himself clinging for dear life to the piece of rock his desperately searching fingertips finally found. Swinging his booted feet to find a firm place to rest them again, they almost slid once more before finding a shelf-like formation to rest a moment on.

The hooded man's voice spoke. "I thought you Musketeers were experts at everything you do, and you can't even climb down a hill? This is not the time for a vacation. Do you really want me to have your friend shot before your eyes? Get down here now."

D'Artagnan was coming to a slow boil. How dare they push an injured man like that! He found himself wishing he had a sword at the man's throat as he watched Aramis get his hands beneath him to start again. D'Artagnan fervently hoped his brother could make it the rest of the way without any more heart-stopping near-tragic accidents on the way down. But his hopes were to be dashed.

Aramis wearily lifted himself up and continued his painful descent. But a few yards from the bottom, disaster struck. His boot landed on a number of small loose stones which rolled under his feet, causing him to lose his precarious handhold. Beginning to tumble down the rest of the way, his body banged against the rocks several times, his hands unable to grab onto anything big enough to break his fall.

D'Artagnan watched helplessly, hoping against hope that Aramis hadn't broken anything in his fall. He watched as two of the hooded men reached out to grab Aramis, who had landed in a heap at the bottom, and lay unmoving.

Two of the hooded men came forward and reached their arms out for him. But just as their hands grabbed for him, two shots rang out simultaneously, the men jerking violently as the bullets stopped their movements, spinning them around to fall inches from Aramis' prone body.

Their companions mounted and spurred their horses out of the clearing to get away.

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D'Artagnan, frozen in place by the threat to his life, watched everything happen like it was in slow motion, his heart in his mouth in horror. Then, he heard the two shots.

Almost disbelieving, he watched now as another group of riders rode into the clearing, as the hooded men disappeared out of sight in the other direction. Recognizing the blue cloaks immediately, d'Artagnan's breath whooshed out of his body in relief, shouting, "Captain!" He saw Athos and Treville holster their smoking weapons, telling him they had been the ones to take out the two men grabbing Aramis.

Their rescuers eyes' flew sharply to where d'Artagnan stood, before returning to the unmoving body before them. Dismounting swiftly except for Athos, who stiffly and painfully climbed down from his horse, they ran to Aramis, while the rest of the men formed a protective circle around their downed comrade. Porthos knelt and turned his brother over carefully.

It didn't take d'Artagnan more than a few moments to make his own ascent. Dropping to his knees next to his brother, his eyes never left Aramis, whose eyes were closed in a face, even in unconsciousness, gone white from the ordeal.

Upon Porthos turning Aramis over, they saw that his shirt was torn and bloody, a bandage wrapped around his torso. Ghosting his hands over the black and blue body of his brother, Porthos could tell he had at least four bruised, if not broken ribs.

D'Artagnan asked, "Is he all right?" to Porthos, worry coloring his speech.

"I'm no medic, but I can tell he has bruised or broken ribs, and some kind of injury around his middle that I am guessing you tried to take care of?" Porthos answered, his eyes locked on Aramis as he spoke.

D'Artagna, to whom Aramis had been imparting some of his medical knowledge the past month or so, without answering now began removing the cloth he had wrapped around his brother's body to keep the wound in his side from bleeding any more. He found that it was now dirty and torn, and once again soaked with his blood.

Porthos, without a word, pulled his shirt up and ripped a piece of it off, handing it to d'Artagnan, who flung the bloodied one away and rewrapped the wound with the new piece. Then, he cleaned the bruised and wrapped them firmly, to give the ribs support in case they were more than just bruised.

Aramis never moved or made a sound the whole time.

Treville finally spoke up. "D'Artagnan, what happened here?" speaking softly to his newest Musketeer, recognizing the Gascon was traumatized by what he and Aramis had just been through, suspecting it was more than the tiny scenario they had come upon.

"It's my fault!" he said, barely above a whisper. "I wasn't careful enough. I didn't check thoroughly before taking it away," causing Treville, Porthos and Athos to look at each other questioningly. Take what away?

D'Artagnan was continuing, "Captain, these hooded men. The first attack before we were separated from Athos and Porthos. I saw them keep looking at Aramis as we were fighting. He is the one they want, and I...I almost gave him to them with my carelessness." He broke down then, the tears falling from both his perceived guilt, the whole time of hiding away, and Aramis almost dying before his eyes. They were also falling in relief at their rescue. But what if it was too late, and Aramis paid the price?

Athos, who had remained silent through everything so far, leaning heavily upon the arm of one of the men who had accompanied Treville, spoke up. "None of us would ever consider you careless, d'Artagnan. I am sure you have done everything you could to keep you and Aramis alive."

"I pulled the brush away," pointing upwards towards the cave entrance, finally telling the others what he had meant before. "I thought I could just go get some berries to go with the fish I had caught yesterday. I pulled away the brush..." and here he was unable to continue for a moment.

Shaking himself, he began again. "As soon as I stepped out on the ledge, riders appeared coming into the clearing. Their heads were all hooded. Their leader spoke right away. He..." taking a deep breath, he went on. "He said he had a man aiming a musket at my head, and I had better...get Aramis over to the cave entrance. I did, and the man told him to come down the hill if he didn't want to see my head shot off."

They all understood his pain even better now. They knew Aramis. To save anyone's life, he would willingly give up his own, especially one of his brothers. Porthos' free hand came to rest on Aramis' head, realizing just how close they had come to losing him.

"He was in pain, dizzy, unsteady on his feet, but he did what they told him to do. To save my life. He nearly didn't make it down twice. Then, he lost his footing and fell the rest of the way to where they were waiting. He has been through so much."

Treville, who was very observant, said, "D'Artagnan. I can see that your shoulder is wrapped from an injury. You have been through a trauma taking care of Aramis and nearly seeing him lose his life. I think both of you have suffered a great deal in this. We will get to the bottom of what is going on, but for now, we are taking you, Aramis and Athos back to Paris to be seen by a physician."

At the mention of Athos, d'Artagnan's head came up, staring at his mentor. "What is wrong..." seeing the pain etched on his brother's face.

"One of these roving bands of hooded men captured Athos and Porthos as they were searching for you. They tortured Athos, and were going to start on Porthos the next day, when they managed to escape."

Shocked, d'Artagnan turned again to Athos, seeing him hunched over and leaning against the man next to him, and asked, "Are you all right? What did they..."

Porthos responded angrily, "They laid the flat of his own main gauche on his back, and then stuck him with it...over and over again. His back is a mess. They wanted to know where you were," indicating d'Artagnan and Aramis.

"They wanted Aramis, " d'Artagnan said softly. "He is one of the kindest, most compassionate people I have ever known. What could they possibly think he did?" gazing down at his brother as he spoke.

Aramis moaned and tried to shift his body, causing Porthos' hand resting on his head to begin gently weaving its way through his wayward curls in an attempt to calm him down. Aramis responded immediately, his body becoming still again, except for his attempting to move his head further into Porthos' hand in an instinctive response to his touch.

"Whatever they think he may have done, they are wrong," Athos said, as his eyes never wavered from his brother's face.

"If they come after him again, they will wish they hadn't," he continued in the coldest, deadliest tone d'Artagnan had ever heard him use.


	9. Chapter 9

Treville had decided to head towards the nearest village they could find, realizing that their enemies far outnumbered them, and would regroup to come back and finish what they had been hired for. They needed to at least have four walls surrounding them to give them enough protection to hold them off.

Porthos reached under Aramis' body as carefully as he could, then lifted him up into his arms to carry him over to his horse. D'Artagnan took their brother long enough for Porthos to get mounted, then lifted him up for Porthos to take him back. The big man settled Aramis in front of him, one strong arm weaving itself around his waist to anchor him in the saddle. He eased Aramis' head back to rest against his own shoulder, then took up the reins again. Through it all, the marksman never moved, his body limp and still.

When everyone had mounted, they took off at an easy trot in deference to their injured members. Athos had stubbornly tried to insist that he could handle a horse on his own, even though he was bent over nearly double from the pain he was in. Treville, being the authoritative leader that he was, had simply put a stop to his protests with an 'Enough!', and told him to ride with d'Artagnan. Porthos almost smiled at the whole episode, remembering the times that Athos had, in the past, had to deal with an injured Aramis who would also insist that he could handle things.

They rode for the better part of an hour before becoming relieved at the fairly large village they finally came upon. Treville himself dismounted and went into the tavern to inquire if there was a building near the edge of the village that they could pay to use for a day, or possibly several, depending upon how long it took to get a message to the garrison in Paris for reinforcements.

The owner told him he himself had just recently purchased a somewhat large house just outside of the village boundaries. Treville named a sum, and the man's eyes positively lit up at the prospect of extra income. He asked them if they needed food or other supplies for their stay, but a shake of Treville's head deflated his visions of even more coins coming to him. Treville didn't need any extra provisions, as he had the foresight before they had left Paris of bringing supplies.

After escorting them to the house they would be staying in the man, whose name was LeGrange, bowed his way out, reflecting that even though they had turned down more purchases from him, he had still earned himself a tidy sum using property he had not intended to put to use for several months yet.

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Treville sent off one of his men with a note to the Musketeer he had left in charge, stating their situation tersely, and ordering most of the garrison to report to him as speedily as possible, giving the name of the village they were situated in. He sincerely hoped they would arrive as soon as possible, with no unforeseen delays.

Aramis and Athos were soon settled on the beds they had discovered in a back bedroom. Neither was conscious. Porthos took charge of Aramis with Treville. They removed the cloths wrapped around his torso, as they were soaked with sweat. The wound still looked red around the edges, and this caused their worry level to increase, it usually being a sign of infection setting in.

One of the men who had come with Treville had retrieved the medical bag Treville had ordered brought along-just in case, he had said. Now, they were so grateful to have it.

Aramis' bag, lost when his horse had bolted, was always filled with any supplies he thought they could need when they went out on missions. He had recently been restocking and labeling the other Musketeers supplies, too. There were no other trained medics in the garrison, but a few of the men could do simple survival things in an emergency to help their injured comrades, and the labels on the supplies greatly helped.

Treville was rummaging around through the contents, looking at the bottles' labels, when he heard a weak, thready voice say, "The dark gr..green bottle, Captain."

His head spun around. "Aramis, you're awake!" Lowering his voice a little, he continued. "How do you feel?" Then, he added, "The truth, Aramis. We all know how you always say 'Fine'."

Aramis closed his eyes as a tremor of pain ran through him, causing him to take a shaky breath before responding.

"Gunshot wound. Ribs b..broken. I c..could b..be better." Always sharing the bare minimum regarding his condition, Treville suspected Aramis had a few more spots on his body from the fall that could also be 'better'. He didn't push him more, though. He could tell Aramis was trying to hold himself together as well as he could. He would just keep an extra close eye on his marksman for now.

Aramis' eyes had been shifting around the room, and then suddenly they sharpenedwhen he discovered Athos' still form lying on a bed on the other side of the bedroom, d'Artagnan bent over him taking care of him.

His heartrate now speeding up, Aramis' frantic eyes turned back to Treville. "W..what's w..wrong with Athos?"

Treville, thinking to spare Aramis bad news for the moment, said, "He's asleep, Aramis. Exhausted from searching for you." Even to his own ears, it sounded rather lame as an excuse, but he hadn't time to think of anything else to say.

"C..Captain, he d..doesn't look good. P..please, tell me?"

Treville sighed, sincerely wishing he didn't have to tell Aramis, not when he was in such bad shape. But he had known Aramis since he was a young lad in his late teens, and he knew his marksman would persist in wanting an answer, an answer he didn't want to give.

"Athos was injured before he and Porthos found you and d'Artagnan, Aramis. D'Artagnan is taking good care of him, thanks to the medical information you have been imparting to him recently."

"W..what are h..his injuries? W..why is h..he unconscious?" his whole face reflecting his growing panic for his brother.

"Calm yourself, Aramis. We are taking good care of him. You can see that for yourself."

"W..what happened to him? Please?"

Aramis was like a dog with a bone when he sensed the truth being kept from him, especially if it concerned one of his brothers. Like now.

With another sigh, Treville spoke again, realizing he had to tell him before he got even more emotionally upset than he already was. Laying a hand softly on his Musketeer's shoulder, he said, "Very well, Aramis, I will tell you. But I need you to calm down first. You are seriously injured, and your duty is to follow your commanding officer's orders. Take a few deep breaths and lie still. Agreed?"

Aramis, even n the shape he was in, looked as if he were going t protest. He wanted, needed to know what had happened and to take care of his brother. But the look Treville leveled at him, equal parts grave concern and 'do not try me', finally had him nod his head reluctantly. At the moment, Treville didn't care if the nod was given reluctantly or with fervor, he just wanted Aramis to take care of himself.

Aramis kept his eyes on Treville's face, waiting.

"Aramis, he and and Porthos had been looking high and low for you and d'Artagnan, worried about what had happened to you both. They had searched the whole area, and nothing. A band of these hooded men took them leader asked them where you two were, and received silence." Pausing for a moment, he knew his next words were going to tear at Aramis' heart. He loved his brothers so much, every bit as much as they loved him. What caused pain to one of them tore at the others, too.

"They wanted to know where you were, and were very insistent. Aside from the fact that Athos and Porthos really didn't know where you might be, they wouldn't ever have told them if they had known. The leader of this group decided to force the issue."

"W..what happened, Captain?" Aramis asked yet again.

"The man tortured Athos while Porthos watched, trying to get information out of him that he did not have to give. He used Athos' own main gauche on his back." He decided against telling Aramis about the dagger having been white-hot when he used it.

The news he had just given him had already caused his stricken Musketeer's face to turn an even whiter shade in shock, as he turned his eyes back to Athos. Then, he tried to use his arms to leverage himself up, his only intent right now being to go to his brother and take care of him. Pain shot up his side as he struggled to get his body to obey his mind.

"Aramis!" Treville was now holding him down, with Aramis still trying to rise. D'Artagnan, who was on the other side of the room in the midst of rewrapping Athos' back, was about to drop everything and come to help. But at that moment, the door opened and Porthos came in to witness the struggle.

"Aramis!" he shouted, reaching the bed in several rapid strides. Wrapping his arms securely around his brother' shoulders, he just held him there for a few moments, shushing him when he made a brief attempt at moving again. Finally, all of his unexpected burst of energy seemed to leave him, and he sagged against Porthos' arms. After a few moments his eyes closed, and he looked peaceful now as he had drifted off, exhausted by his brief struggle.

Treville and Porthos checked to make sure he hadn't caused any damage to his injuries, then pulled the blanket over him as he slept. Treville belatedly had remembered the dark green bottle, assuming it was a pain med of some sort. But at least Aramis was resting again. He would take that as a small victory of sorts.

D'Artagnan exchanged a glance with Treville and Porthos as if to say," That was close."

Treville looked at Porthos, saying, "That was a mighty long moment refilling the pitcher."

Porthos responded, saying, "No water to retrieve. Had to go out to the well and reload the bucket." Never having taken his eyes off Aramis, he asked Treville, "I assume he woke up, saw Athos, and asked what happened?" and received a sad nod in response.

They would have to keep an eye on him from now on.

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Treville went next to Athos' bedside, his stomach churning as he looked down again at the damage inflicted on his back. It was one thing to see battlefield wounds, horrendous though they could be. But for someone to slowly and maliciously do this to a helpless man went beyond the bounds of his understanding. It was brutal and sick.

Everything this group of men did seemed vicious, and deliberately so. Forcing an injured man to climb down a steep, rock-filled hill was in the same nasty vein. Who had taken the time to hunt down this many men with minds bent like this? And why?

Telling Porthos and d'Artagnan to keep up their care of their brothers and try to get a nap one at a time while the other kept watch on their brothers, he left the room. Taking a couple of the men with him, they mounted to reconnoitre their surroundings. The other men he ordered to keep constantly patrolling the outside of the house, and to be very vigilant.

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On d'Artagnan's turn to watch, Aramis and Athos continued to peacefully slumber, whle Porthos' head was leaning against the chair back asleep. Hearing a noise in the other room, he glanced once more to make sure his brothers were yet sleeping, and slipped out of the room to look around for what had made the noise.

It took only a brief time, discovering that a plate had been too close to the edge of the table and had teetered off to the floor. Returning after having cleaned up the broken pieces, he found one bed empty, and Aramis slumped motionless over Athos on the other side of the room.

 ** _I am not medically trained, so if I got anything wrong about Aramis and Athos' wounds and treatment so far in the story, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the cliffhanger on this, but it's sooo Aramis!_**


	10. Chapter 10

Aramis gradually came awake, head still fuzzy and his body lethargic. Blinking several times, his vision sharpened, the first thing he saw was his injured brother's still form across the room.

The same sense of panic he had felt earlier overwhelmed him, his mind thinking, 'my brother needs me, and I've been sleeping away.' With that thought filling his mind, he tried lifting himself up, only to be filled with lightning bolts of pain and collapsing back onto his bed.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried something else. Slowly, so slowly, he maneuvred one leg to the edge of the bed, where he halted for a moment to rest. Then he pushed on, his body protesting his every move as he steadfastly attempted to ignore as much of it as he could.

It seemed to take forever, but finally the leg fell over the side of the bed. His progress giving him just a little more energy, his other leg followed the first one, til both feet were flat on the wooden floor.

Attempting once more to lift himself, his body screaming its protests at him ever louder now, he forced his way up despite it, nearly passing out as the room swam dizzily around him once he became at last upright.

Waiting a moment while some of the lightheadedness passed, he haltingly began setting one foot in front of the other, gradually reaching the side of Athos' bed.

Looking down at his sleeping brother, Aramis could see how pale he was, the dark circles under his eyes. 'He went through this torment to protect us,' he thought, silently vowing to heal him from what he had been through. Raising an increasingly shaky hand, he laid it softly on Athos' head, smoothing the hair back from his forehead.

Standing upright once more, he looked around the room for medical supplies. But there, his luck ran out, as an overwhelming blackness overtook him, collapsing over his brother's prone body to lie unmoving.

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D'Artagnan came back into the room and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him. The tray he had brought back with him filled with food dropped from his hands, its contents strewn everywhere.

Porthos, the clatter having penetrated his deep sleep, sat up abruptly, looking around to see what was the matter. D'Artagnan was directly in his line of sight, but he could see the shocked look on his brother's face, prompting him to follow where his eyes were fixed. When they had, he shot out of the chair, and he and d'Artaganan both reached the bed in seconds.

Gently lifting Aramis off of Athos and cradling him in his arms, Porthos carried him back to his own bed, lying him down softly. Checking his pulse, he was relieved that it seemed the same as before they had all fallen asleep. He glanced down and saw no telltale signs of blood around the bandages, so he once more covered his brother with his blanket

'What were you thinking, mon ami?' he silently asked. 'Should have known you would try something like this. We're going to have to keep a closer eye on you,' ruffling his brother's hair fondly as he chastised him.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan, seeing that Porthos had settled Aramis back in bed, began to check Athos out, finding everything still the same.

He had just finished straigtening his pillow and covering his brother again, when Athos said in a barely audible voice, "Aramis?"

D'Artagnan said, "You're awake?" in a surprised voice.

"Obviously," came the droll reply. "Aramis?" he asked again.

"Decided that, barely awake and in much the same shape as you, you wouldn't survive without his skills, and somehow made it as far as your bed before collapsing on you," d'Artagnan replied, unknowingly having the same exasperated fondness in his voice as had been in Porthos' thoughts a moment before.

"Is he all right?" Athos asked, and Porthos responded from the other side of the bed, "Hard head. We should have figured...," before Athos finished, "Aramis was just being Aramis. Hard-headed perhaps, ...but he loves us." After the excitement, Athos was falling asleep again.

Porthos and d'Artagnan looked around and sighed, seeing the mess littered everywhere on the floor from the tray. They looked at each other with eyebrows raised, and Porthos said, "Well, it won't clean itself," earning a grin from d'Artagnan.

When the food had been removed, Porthos told d'Artagnan, "Keep an eye on these two. I'll go see about replenishing the food." Seeing the look beginning to form on d'Artagnan's face now that it was quiet again and he had time to think, Porthos said, "No, i wasn't your fault. They were both asleep. I was asleep but would have awakened if there had been much noise. Aramis is just very quiet on his feet. Always has been. You have nothing to blame yourself for, d'Artagnan." Giving him a long look to make sure he understood, d'Artagnan slowly nodded his head, and Porthos turned and left the room.

He had barely been gone a minute when Treville came through the door. "Porthos said there was some excitement while I was gone?"

D'Artagnan said, "I don't know if I would call it that exactly. Aramis woke up and decided to take care of Athos himself."

Treville responded, "He didn't..."

"He sure did," came the reply. "He got as far as Athos' bed before passing out 0n top of him."

Treville shook his head, but a fond grin lit his face. He knew his medic would always place his brothers ahead of his own well-being. It's just how he was, a part of his very being.

"I suppose you already know to watch him like a hawk then?" he asked, and d'Artagnan nodded, and they sat in companiable silence awaiting Porthos' return.

Later that night, after Treville had ordered his men to rest, he sat with a sleeping Aramis, with one eye on Athos.

Around midnight, Aramis began moving restlessly, his head moving from side to side. "W..why?" His movements were gradually becoming more agitated, and Treville, concerned that he could break open the wound on his side, grabbed his shoulders as as gently as he could, trying to hold him in place. This only caused Aramis to become more frantic. He muttered something Treville couldn't make out at first. "L..leave him alone! Y..you animals! H..he's my b..brother...h..he's.."

Treville realized that Aramis' nightmare was about Athos' torment at the hands of his captors. They all knew that the nightmares often came when Aramis was either injured or ill, so they should have expected one now. But what they couldn't have foreseen is his reliving something he himself had not been present for. Even though he himself hadn't been there to see it, Aramis' imaginative nightmare was, unfortunately, giving him a vivid picture of how it may have happened, and it was tearing the medic apart.

Aramis became more frantic in his nightmare. "Athos! Don't do this! Don't sac...rifice y...yourself for...Athos!" sobbing now, Aramis could see something making him frantic.

There was nothing further Treville could do to prevent the pictures in Aramis' mind to play out, so he gathered his Musketeer into his arms and held him securely, as a now-awake Porthos and d'Artagnan joined him, hoping the nightmare left him soon.

It went on for what seemed forever to the friends gathered around him, but finally, he began to become more calm, until he finally stilled, his head resting against Treville's shoulder once more in sleep. The captain and his men could only look at each other in deep concern at what Aramis had experienced, fervently hoping it would be the only nightmare he would be put through.

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The leader of the hooded men met again with their employer in the dark, underground room, the latter highly incensed that they had thus far failed at the job they had been hired for and paid very well to carry out.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" he sarcastically asked. "What am I paying you for, and I might add, paying you far more than you seem to be worth?"

The other man didn't seem to be in the least afraid of the very powerful man to whom he spoke now. "We will finish what you hired us for, Your Eminence. When we do, you will be very pleased with the results. The quarry has just slipped through our fingers for a short time, but not for long."

Then his employer surprised him with a new twist to his instructions.

"I have decided on a different...ending to our enterprise. When our...how did you call him?...quarry is caught in your net, he is to be brought to a location I shall then name. I find that I wish to be present for the ending of his pathetic little life. Do not disappoint me yet again," turning on his heel without another word and walking away.

The hooded man, now perplexed, wondered what that ending would be. Then he decided it didn't matter. As long as they brought him who he wanted, their purses would be filled with enough coins to keep them living comfortably for a very long time.

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It was early evening when d'Artagnan, sitting with Athos, began to become apprehensive. His brother was developing a temperature, and moaning softly. Fearing an infection, he called Porthos' name, keeping his voice as low as possible, both for the two injured men who were asleep, and for Treville catnapping in the corner of the room.

Porthos rose and came over, saying, "What's wrong?"

"I think he might be developing an infection, Porthos."

Porthos' expression turned to intense concern, and he said, "Why is the nearest village for shelter that we could reach the only one without a doctor?" just stopping himself from kicking a nearby bucket in frustration.

Lowering his voice still more, d'Artagnan said, "I'm as frustrated as you are,Porthos, but there's nothing we can do about it now. And we need to keep our voices down so Aramis..."

"Is...Athos worse?" a half-awake medic asked in a worried voice. Porthos signalled to d'Artagnan that he would handle it. Moving over to Aramis' bed and taking his hand, he teased, "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"I heard you, P..Porthos." Trying to clear his sleep-muddled mind, he frowned. Then,his eyes grew very round, saying, "He said in..infection! Athos!" again trying to push himself out of bed.

Porthos took him by the shoulders and easily and firmly pushed him to lie flat again. But Aramis was growing panicked for his brother, and squirmed, trying to get free. "Achill...!" he cried. "Has to have...," but he was no match for Porthos' strength.

Treville, awake now, said, "Aramis! You are in no cond...," but Aramis, his eyes wide with tears forming at the corners, said, "You d..don't under..stand. Achillia!" he said again, still struggling feebly to go to his brother.

Treville tried another tactic, asking him, Achillia? What is achillia? For infection?"

Aramis' eyes latched onto his captain's face, hope blooming now. "Achillia mill...," he said, but confusion spread across their faces. Aramis' eyes saddened as he saw that they didn't understand him.

Treville tried again. "Aramis, we don't know..."

Another voice weakly spoke up. "Aramis, wh..what is it?" Athos said.

Knowing Athos spoke Latin, as many noblemen did, Aramis' face registered hope again. "You need achillia millafolium," finally getting the words out.

They all turned to Athos, hoping he could enlighten them with what could help him if he did indeed have an infection beginning.

"Yarrow, a plant with small yellow flowers that ..I've seen growing by water," he told them.

D'Artagnan said "I'll go ask at the tavern and see if any grows around here," leaving as he spoke.

Aramis turned to Treville again, asking, "Captain, may I stay with Athos, please?" his voice pleading now.

"I don't think..."

Aramis interrupted. "I will sit in a chair. I will just stay quietly by him. I need to be able to watch h..his symptoms. I will f..follow your ?"

Treville knew when he was defeated. The pain in Aramis' voice spoke volumes about how much he loved his brothers, and Treville couldn't get the nightmare he had heard Aramis going through, as well. "IF...and it is a big 'if' you do exactly as your brothers and I say when you are out of your bed, you may sit...I repeat...sit by Athos. If you need anything, for him or for yourself, you are to ask one of us to get it for you. Understood?"

Aramis, his eyes exhausted but shining now, "Yes, Captain!"

Treville just hoped he wasn't making a huge mistake, but the tired joy in his soldier's eyes warmed his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

Aramis followed his captain's orders all night, then all the next day and night, surprising them all. If he needed a wet cloth to smooth over Athos' face to cool him a little from the fever, he did as he had been told and asked one of his brothers for it.

When d'Artagnan the next morning, having learned from someone in the tavern where he could find some yarrow, brought a handful back, Aramis instructed him how to prepare it. With hands that trembled from the exhaustion and pain he persisted in ignoring, he applied the mixture to the wounds on Athos' back, hoping it would eventually turn the tide against his fever.

They brought him his meals, and he dutifully ate them, even though he had no appetite. They could see the pain and weariness in his face and body, but his whole focus was now on Athos. They hoped he would continue to have no reason to do more than keep an eye on him.

They insisted on checking out his wound once in the morning and again at night. They kept an eye on him, ready to put deposit him back in his own bed if he couldn't go on. But Aramis was both dedicated and stubborn enough to continue, loving his brother too much to think of himself and what he might need.

Treville had been out all day with the rest of his men, canvassing the area, asking questions about a couple of strangers who had been seen riding through. He needed to check out the reports to determine if it could possibly be part of the band that had harmed his men.

Just before dawn, someone let out a cry of alarm from somewhere downstairs. The Musketeers had taken two rooms on the second floor of the inn. Porthos and d'Artagnan , hearing the shout, first looked over at their brothers. All was quiet, Athos sleeping and Aramis sitting quietly beside him. He had heard the shout also, and made a motion signifying that he was fine and they should go. Looking at each other, they hoped that they were making the right decision to just go downstairs and see if there was some kind of emergency. They knew most men in the countryside villages probably weren't fully equipped to handle an intruder. Taking one more quick look back, they left the room.

As luck would have it, not long after had they left Athos began to stir, not making a sound but his body twitching restlessly from the fever. Aramis, seeing this, bent over Athos and took his brother's hand into his own, whispering words of comfort to his brother.

At first it seemed to work, Athos becoming calmer at hearing the soothing words. But then with no warning, he pushed upwards with both hands, exhibiting a strength that seemed impossible for someone in his condition.

His hands shoved at Aramis, who had risen to his feet to try to stop him. Aramis, weak and hiding his pain, was not that hard to push, and stumbled backwards. Losing his footing, with a cry he went down, his head hitting the edge of the table holding their supplies. Landing hard, he lay crumpled up on the floor, unmoving.

Athos, staggering in a weaving pattern, headed moved towards the door and, opening it, headed down the stairs

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It had taken longer than they liked, but Porthos and d'Artagnan managed to grab the man who had taken all the coins from the tavern owner's box and run out the door. Profuse thank you's greeted them as they came back into the tavern, Porthos with a tight hold on the scrawny little man's collar, propelling him towards the bar. D'Artagnan inquired whether the tavern had a storeroom without windows where they could lock the man in until the local lord who had jurisdiction could be notified and send men to retrieve him for trial. Receiving an affirmative answer, they then locked the man into the room they were directed to, and headed for the stairs.

They were almost there when they both shouted, "Athos!", as their brother came into sight moving down the stairs, or rather stumbling his way down, his eyes unfocused and wild. They reached him just as he passed out, saving him a painful face-first drop to the floor. Porthos gathered him up in his arms and carried him back up the stairs, d'Artagnan just shaking his head at this turn of events.

When they reached their room, however, they were shocked at the sight that greeted them. Coming to a halt at the open door, they beheld Aramis sprawled on the floor unconscious, blood trickling down the left side of his face.

Porthos and d'Artagnan each had the same though running through their heads, 'what in the world happened here? Were they attacked?' They saw no sign of anyone else having been there, but it oculd have been possible.

Porthos strode rapidly across the room and laid a completely limp Athos once again on his bed, covering him with a blanket. He didn't seem to have any visible signs of assault on him.

D'Artagnan, meanwhile, had closed and locked the door behind him, then knelt at Aramis' side, laying his fingers softly against his neck. Nodding his head to a panicked Porthos, who was heading quickly over to them, he and his brother gathered Aramis between them and laid him gently back on to his bed. Porthos got a wet cloth and wiped away the blood from his brother's face, then wrapped his head with a piece of torn cloth.

D'Artagnan said, "I don't see any signs of a struggle," after he had checked Aramis' side to make sure the wound hadn't reopened.

Porthos pointed at the now-overturned table, the supplies scattered haphazardly on the floor and said, "I think his head hit the table. There's blood on the edge of it. But we still have no idea how it happened."

"We need to keep an eye out for intruders. It would have been easy for someone to have slipped up the stairs once we had come down. Athos and Aramis would have been in no shape to resist. Could it have been one of the hooded men again?" Treville is out there now looking for any signs that they could be in the area," d'Artagnan wondered aloud. Porthos just shook his head.

They had no way to know, and they weren't about to leave their brothers while they were helpless and explore the building and grounds. Porthos sat down with Aramis, while d'Artagnan settled near Athos, both determined to stay up all night, if need be, to prevent any more trouble.

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Porthos sat with his head in his hands some time later, thoughts and questions running through his mind as he gently tousled his beleageured brother's curls.

'What happened, Aramis,' he wondered. 'Did the hooded men come looking for you again? Why? Your heart goes out to anyone who needs help, anyone in need. What could you have done?' He continued, veering a little now to a teasing tone, one he and his brothers sometimes used to ease their stress. 'Your head better be hard enough for this latest knock, mon ami. You're lucky you don't need stitches, 'cause you know how bad I am at that.' Pausing again, his tone became sad and somber once again. 'Just wake up for us, please. You and Athos don't deserve any of this. You fight for our lives, please fight for yours,' squeezing the limp hand in his grasp.

When Treville and his men came back very late, he was shocked to hear what had happened. Shocked and angry. They would get to the bottom of these mysterious and deadly men if it was the last thing he did he vowed to Athos and Aramis, two of his very best and most trusted men.

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Athos and Aramis both lay still for several hours, before Athos emitted a groan and then his eyes moving under his eyelids signalling his gradual return to consciousness.

D'Artagnan said to Porths, "His fever seems to have broken at last. His skin is cooler." Both brothers eagerly awaited his eyes opening, as he had been unresponsive for so long.

It seemed to take forever to his waiting brothers, but their wait was finally rewarded when Athos at last cracked open, accompanied by another long groan.

His first sight was of Porthos and d'Artagnan smiling broadly at him, happy and grateful that he was back with them again. They let him take a few moments to orient himself before speaking.

"Hey, mon ami, welcome back," Porthos said, keeping his booming voice reined in as he spoke.

Athos at first looked confused, not really registering what Porthos mean by his words welcoming him back. His confusion showed by a frown as his brows drew together, and he looked from one to the other of his brothers blankly.

"You had an infection from your wounds, Athos," d'Artagnan explained. "You were out for several days. But your fever has broken, and you will be just fine after a few days' rest."

Athos seemed to understand at least a little of what he had been told, his brows relaxing their frown at the words.

They let him rest for a few minutes before d'Artagnan always eager, asked him, "Do you have any memory of what happened with you and Aramis earlier?"

His brows drew together once more, and then his face showed growing worry as he tried to ask,"A..Ar...?" his voice scratchy from disuse.

Realizing he was very dry, d'Artagnan hurriedly poured some water into a cup and, with Porthos lifting Athos' head, fed a little water at a time until he tried to nod his head for them to stop.

Trying again, his scratchy voice got out, "Aramis...all right?"

They hesitated a moment too long, and Athos' face began to register alarm, as he tried to move his head to search for his missing brother.

"Athos! Athos, it's all right. He's right here. Look!"

Turning his head in the direction indicated with d'Artagnan's assistance, Athos' eyes grew very wide, his breathing quickening as he asked, "Wh..what happened?"

They didn't want to say they had no idea, that they had hoped he could tell them, figuring that would only increase his worry. So Porthos said, "He is asleep, Athos, the best thing for him. It might be good for you, too."

Athos' eyes closed for a while, leading his brothers to assume either that he had taken their advice and gone to sleep, or that his body had simply tuckered itself out already.

Not even an hour later, though, he returned to consciousness in a frenzy,calling, "Aramis! Aramis!" in a panic, and trying to get up to go to him.

Both Porthos and d'Artagnan held him down as gently but firmly as they could, speaking to him quietly and calmly. "Aramis is here, Athos. He will be fine."

But Athos shook his head, crying out, "It was me! I did it!"

Whatever they might have expected him to say, that was not it. Athos had caused harm to his best friend? No way!

"I am responsible. It was me!" he continued to say, his voice utterly torn and ragged, and began to sob.

"Athos, what happened?" Porthos finally asked him, figuring maybe speaking of what was causing his panic might somehow possibly diffuse his emotions.

"I..pushed h..him! he said brokenly. "I w..woke up and h..he was leaning over m..me. I thought..I though he was..."

"You thought he was the man who hurt you," Porthos surmised, seeing Athos nod his head.

"I was dr..dreaming. I..I saw the man, and...," he stopped, obviously seeing the hooded man again before him.

"He isn't here now, Athos. We will never let him anywhere near a Musketeer again, mom ami," the big man solemnly promised him.

This was so different from the cool, confident leader they knew him to be. But then, he had been through a horrifically bad experience, and who knows how any of them would have reacted in the same situation?

"I..do not remember..what happened after that," he finally continued. "Wh..where did I go?" looking from Porthos to d'Artagnan, then back to Porthos.

"You ended up coming downstairs and passing out," Porthos told him. "I carried you back here."

"Where is here?" sounding just a little more like the Athos they were accustomed to now.

"We are on the second floor of a tavern in a village a distance away from where we found Aramis and d'Artagnan," continued Porthos.

Porthos and d'Artagnan saw that while they were talking, Athos' eyes kept seeking out Aramis' still form, eyes filled with guilt.

"You are not to blame for what happened, Athos," he softly told him. "Would you like to go sit with him for a little while?" knowing he wasn't in very good shape to do that, but thinking his mental agitation might be calmed down if he were to do so.

Athos nodded, and Porthos lifted him to carry him over to Aramis, sitting him down at his brother's side. Athos took his brother's hand almost immediatelhy, eyes sad as he looked down at Aramis.

"I am sorry, Aramis," he whispered. "I am so very sorry. Please forgive me, mon ami. I will make it up to you somehow, brother."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Finally the electrical storms are over, and I could finish this chapter. Please bear with me if there are any grammatical errors in this one. The longest chapter of the fic so far. Enjoy!**_

They kept their brothers in bed for a couple more days. The third day saw them just well enough for them to be able to start their journey back to Paris.

Aramis and Athos slowly walked out of the inn and were helped onto horses, Porthos mounting up behind Aramis, while d'Artagnan partnered with Athos. Naturally, the two injured parties protested and then complained vehemently that they were well enough to ride on their own. But their pleas seemed to fall on suddenly deaf ears. Porthos, d'Artagnan and Treville weren't going to chance their having setbacks if they could help it.

Treville felt easier about travelling after yet again having had the surrounding countryside reconnoitred by his men, who had found no trace of the hooded band. Even so, he had several of his men positioned as outriders, eyes peeled for any signs of trouble.

It was normally a two-day ride, but they took a slower pace which would make their journey three days to accomodate Athos and Aramis, who once again protested that they were just fine. Their comments were again ignored, and Porthos and d'Artagnan enjoyed immensely the disgruntled looks, almost sulks, that overtook their brothers' faces.

The took several breaks during the days, always choosing a spot with a stand of trees to shade their injured brothers. They made camp each night far earlier than they normally would have done also.

They finally reached Paris itself, then after weaving their way through crowds of people out to purchase food and other supplies, it being a busy market day, they finally passed through the gates of the garrison. Porthos, d'Artagnan and Treville all sighed in relief at having had such an uneventful journey, unmarred by any signs of trouble.

Athos and Aramis were bundled off to their own rooms, much to their delight at avoiding being installed in the infirmary. But theri smiles disappeared when they found out Porthos would be staying in Aramis' rooms, and d'Artagnan with Athos. Treville was still being cautious.

As much as they had said how well they were doing, Aramis and Athos both were out like lights as soon as their heads hit their pillows, confirming their brothers' thoughts that they weren't as well as they were letting on.

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Next day when Treville came to see how his men were faring, Athos asked why he needed d'Artagnan to stay with him.

"I am not a child, or at death's door, and I do not have a raging fever. I am able to take care of myself," he stated. "I do not need anyone to watch over me, with apologies to d'Artagnan," he said, knowing it had been Treville's decision and looking over at his youngest brother in confidence that he would support him in this argument.

Before Treville could respond, d'Artagnan said quietly, "Athos, do you know how close you and Aramis came to death's door? Infection is not a pretty sight, and it's deadly. The yarrow has been doing it job so far. All we are asking is that you rest for another couple of days to ensure that your wounds have healed further."

Athos answered, "I am perfectly capable of putting yarrow on my wounds. I am also well able to sleep and eat when needed. I wish to be left alone while I recover."

It was at this point that Treville put the full force of his captaincy in his response. "This is not open for discussion. You will allow d'Artagnan, and whoever else I may send in to assist you, and you will accept their help. I already had much this same discussion with Aramis earlier this morning. You are, both of you, excellent when taking care of others, but you do not wish to allow yourselves the same assistance when you need it yourselves." Pausing, he said, "We came too close this time, Athos. We are just being cautious because we do not wish to lose you." He stood up as he finished speaking, the tough captain doing what he rarely did, showing his love for his Inseparables. Giving his lieutenant a rare stern look, he left, closing the door silently behind him. D'Artagnan just hoped the words had been taken to heart, and glancing over at his mentor, could see by the look on his face that it had indeed.

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Aramis had been a model patient for Porthos since his earlier visit from Treville. This was a new side of his friend for Porthos. In all the time he had known him and been by his side when he was injured or ill, Aramis had always, without fail, insisted that he was fine.

But after a visit from Treville, Aramis ceased his grumbling. His captain's words had touched him deeply, it seemed.

True, he had behaved well when he had been allowed to sit with Athos earlier, but that was because he was so focused on being medic to his brother. The visit from Treville had shown him just how worried they had all been for he and Athos, and how badly they had responded to that worry. Now, Aramis did anything he was told. He took his meds, lay without grumbling if Porthos changed a dressing, and ate his meals. Porthos could hardly believe the cooperation he was getting for the second time.

While he was asleep later in the afternoon, d'Artagnan came in. He had asked one of the off-duty men to stay with Athos for a few minutes while he spoke with his brother. He used his hand to beckon Porthos over to the other side of the room from where Aramis was sleeping.

Sitting down, he looked intently at Porthos. "We need to make sure that Aramis is never alone. We don't know who is behind these attacks, or why. Has Aramis ever mentioned anyone to you who has made threats against him?" knowing how close Aramis and Porthos were.

"In the past, he has had an angry husband or two. But they weren't the types who would plan something like this," Porthos said thoughtfully. "And as far as anyone we have tangled with officially as Musketeers, they would have wanted to terminate all of us, not just Aramis."

Reviewing the incidents that had happened on their mission, they felt even more strongly that it was their brother who had been the hooded men's focus.

This had seemed well thought out, planned. Someone with quite a bit of monehy at his disposal to use. Someone who could very well be a person of great power, and probably in a position of authority that he wasn't hesitant to use.

It was undoubtedly someome who had also taken his time to seek out a certain type of evil-minded, brutal men to carry out his wishes, possibly culled from the taverns and other low-life places of back street Paris. Men who had now had time to slip back into those places and could be keeping an eye on the garrison, and who would know when they came and went, and where.

Whoever it was, he was not going to give up very easily. He knew where they were, and could just wait for the best opportunity to finish what he had started, all without getting his own hands dirty.

They also knew that there were many powerful men in Paris, men with power and stature, who could do what they pleased and no one but the king or cardinal had any control over them. But it could just as easily be a nobleman on his estates who had orchestrated the plan, and he would be even harder to investigate by being on his own lands and in a more remote location.

They couldn't go to the king or to the cardinal with their suspicions, not without hard evidence. The king had a long history of standing behind the aristocracy of his court. He wouldn't even listen to the Musketeers with the little they could present to him at present. Richelieu knew which side his bread was buttered on, and would side competely with his sovereign. The only times he didn't were when he stood to gain either power or gold, which at the present moment didn't seem to be a possibility in this case.

They were just flying blind right now, conjecturing who and why. At the moment, whoever was behind this knew about them and their movements, and they basically knew nothing of him It made for a very dangerous sitution, especially if d'Artagnan was right and it was indeed Aramis who had been targetted.

They made a silent pact between them to never let their brother out of their sight, also not to let him find out what they knew.

But the second part went right out the window almost as soon as they had decided it.

D'Artagnan rose and followed Porthos back over to Aramis to see how he was doing. They had no sooner sat down next to the bed, than they heard, "It's me they want?" in a barely audible voice.

Startled, their eyes flew to Aramis' face, to find weary brown eyes looking questioningly at them from under a head of sleep-tousled curls, still not quite fully awake, ut obviously having been awakened and having heard some of their conversation.

They looked at each other, wondering how much he had heard and how much they should tell h im.

But he knew them, and even having just awakened, figured out exactly what they were thinking. "Please," he said, "be honest with me?"

D'Artagnan took a deep slow breath and exhaled. "Aramis, I saw them keeping an eye on you while we fought them the first time."

"Coincidence perhaps?"

"They wanted you to come down from the cave. Their whole focus was you. I think I was just used to force you to come to them."

This time, Aramis was silent. It did indeed look to him then that he could very well be their focus.

"Why?" he asked, his face just as puzzled as their conversation had been at a reason to come after him so viciously.

This question told them he hadn't heard all of their he had already heard the worst, so it wasn't worth holding back now.

"Aramis, do you know of anyone who wishes you this kind of harm?" Porthos asked. Someone who is wealthy and powerful?"

Aramis was still digesting the fact that this whole series they had just gone through was because someone wanted to kill him. But now, his tired mind was filling with guilt that his brothers could have been killed because of him. Just thinking of what Athos had gone through tore him apart, and of d'Artagnan's injury, not even considering for a moment what he himself had suffered at their hands.

"They nearly tortured Athos to death because of me. It was my fault!" he cried out, his eyes beyond sad, sick at the realization of causing one of his brothers so much trauma and pain.

"Aramis!" Porthos said, But Aramis didn't hear him, lost in his guilt. He tried again, sharply and louder in volume. "Aramis!"

When he still didn't get through to him Porthos reached down and gently gathered his hurting brother up against his chest, saying softly, "It's not your fault, Aramis. Not your fault. It' someone with a very sick mind who did this."

Aramis was shaking his head as his brother spoke. He had always had a very vivid imagination, and at the moment was seeing once again the damage being inflicted upon Athos in his mind, much as he had in his sleeping dreams. His face reflected the feelings of being somehow responsible. Porthos just held him securely and rubbed gentle circles on his back, trying to soothe him.

Gradually, after a few minutes it must have begun to work, as a now-weary Aramis began to nod, his head slowly sinking down to his chest and his breathing evening out in sleep. Porthos eased his brother back down on his bed, glad that he was once again at peace.

He and d'Artagnan once again moved a distance away from the bed as Porthos spoke in a whisper, "We always seem to forget just how keen both his eyes and ears are-better than anyone I've ever known. Those ears of his can hear a footfall or a twig snap that will confirm his eerie sense of danger before the rest of us. How many times has he saved our lives because of it? We should have been more careful where we discussed this," not thinking that they were once again speaking in the same room as the brother he had just desribed. It went to show just how agitated all of them were ove this whole mess.

"He's not responsible for what happened to Athos, who would be the first to tell him so," d'Artagnan said.

"I know that and you know that. But try telling him that just now. And any one of us might feel the same way if our positions were reversed. We just need to keep a very watchful eye on him as we agreed earlier. This probably isn't over yet, " Porthos wearily said.

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Above stairs in a ramshackle old house that looked for all the world as if it had been abandoned for years, the leader of the hooded men and several of his companions had met to go over their mission.

Without their hoods the men looked fairly respectable, hair and beards neatly trimmed, and dressed in tradesmen's sober clothes. But the hard eyes, grim sets to their lips and the sheer number of scars riddling their faces and arms told a different story. As did the sheer amount and variety of weapons strewn around the room. These were hardened men, for whom violence and lawlessness was their way of life.

"We need to lay low for a while. Our target is in just a little bad shape right at the moment," here he smirked at his own words. "So is the arrogant one I cut up. He's a nobleman, unless I totally miss my guess. I can spot them a mile away. He's not too important to us, though, just if he or the others get in the way. But our source of gold won't be going anywhere that we can nab him for a while yet."

Looking around at the other two, of whom he seemed to be the superior, he added, "Just keep an eye on anyone leaving that garriso and what they do. I don't think they have any way of knowing who we are or who hired us, but if they do begin to figure it out, we may know from their movements. Stay alert and hidden. We can afford to move slowly on this to get it just right this time, and be rewarded with all the gold promised to us."


	13. Chapter 13

_**This chapter is not very long, as I was in San Diego without a computer all weekend. Next week's chapter will be normal length. This is a very emotional chapter, though. I hope you enjoy!**_

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Athos woke up to d'Artagnan's intense eyes looking down at him.

"I am not that bad, am I?" he deadpanned.

D'Artagnan's face remained solemn, no familiar smile lighting up his face.

"What is wrong, d'Artagnan?" he asked, concern coloring his features now.

"You haven't been awake for two days, Athos. I guess I'm very relieved just to see your eyes open again."

Athos, a slight frown forming as he continued to study his brother, spoke again. There was something else, he surmised.

"If you are relieved to see me awake again, why the solemn face?" he tried again in his no-nonsense tone.

Then, before d'Artagnan could respond, suddenly had a thought hit him. Knowing if his brother was happy and releived that he had awakened, it meant..."Aramis!"

D'Artagnan heaved a big sigh before answering, "He hasn't been resting easily, which he needs to do to heal."

"Why?" Seeing d'Artagnan hesitate to answer, he once more said, softly this time but no more compelling, "D'Artagnan?"

"He overheard Porthos and I talking our adversaries' target being him, and is overcome by guilt," the Gascon replied, and Athos heard his brother's own sense of guilt through the words he spoke. "You know Aramis," d'Artagnan continued. "He would give his life for any one of us without a moment's notice."

Athos responded, "As would we all,d'Artagnan," his eyes closing as he spoke.

Thinking his brother might need to rest some more, d'Artagnan started to get up, but was startled when, with no warning, Athos began to sit up, swinging his right leg over the side of the bed much quicker than d'Artagnan would have guessed he was capable of moving.

Reaching out his hands to gently ease his brother back down again, he encountered an unexpected strength in Athos, given the amount of time that he had been bedridden, that resisted all his efforts.

"Athos, you need to stay in bed," d'Artagnan protested.

"I need to go to my sometimes-stubborn brother and let him know he is quilty of absolutely nothing," Athos insisted. "He will let it eat away at him. Not only will that cause him mental pain, but it could very well interfere with his recovery. He must hear from me that he has done nothing that need cause him guilt or anxiety." Looking up at d'Artagnan, he said in a voice that bespoke both command and plea, "Help me?"

Knowing how hard it was to Athos; innate pride to have to ask for assistance, d'Artagnan said nothing else, letting his actions in lifting his brother to stand speak for him.

Once he had steadied himself, Athos, without another word, softly laid his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder and squeezed. D'Artagnan accepted with a nod, and they made their way slowly over to Aramis' bed.

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Aramis, himself beginning to awaken from a long sleep, suddently felt movement on his bed. Not quite fully alert yet, he nevertheless reached for the dagger he usually placed under his pillow at night, preparing to try to defend himself as best he could.

When almost simultaneously, he came up empty with a way to defend himself and felt a hand start to cover his, he stiffened and tried to get up. Instantly, he felt more hands on his body, trying to keep him still. Panic, set in, his mind filling with images of dark hoods with cut-out eyes. He began to struggle, his breathing quickening from his motions.

It was then that he heard a voice say, "Aramis." Then, louder, "Aramis, it is Athos! Calm yourself, brother," Athos surmising accurately what, or who, Aramis thought he was struggling against.

All of Aramis' writhing ceased, his body relaxing at the voice of the brother he loved. Moments later, weary eyes opened at last, and beholding Athos' concerned blue eyes, he attempted a small smile,only for it to fade away when earlier remembered thougts and words came back to him.

Gazing at Aramis' now, his brother's heart filled with sadness as he saw the sadness and guilt fill the brown eyes before him.

Aramis' voice, barely above a whisper, said, "I am so sorry, Athos, for what you went...," getting no further as Athos quietly but firmly interrupted him.

"You are not to blame, Aramis."

"They wanted..."

"It does not matter what they wanted...or who. You did nothing to warrant their coming after you for."

"But we don't know why..."

"Aramis, we know you. Your are the most kind-hearted, compassionate person I have even known. There is absolutely nothing you could ever have done to warrant being hurt or killed as they obviously intended. We will get to the bottom of this matter. But for now, concentrate on healing...and I forbid you to carry ounce of guilt concerning myself, d'Artagnan or Porthos. That extends to anything that might happen in the future...to us or to anyone else. Do you understand?"

Aramis was quiet for a moment, obviously letting his brother's words settle in his mind. Then, he gave a little nod.

"Very good," Athos continued. "Now, I need another promise from you. You understand my words. But will you follow them?"

The nod was slower in coming, but then given by a solemn Aramis.

"Good," Athos said. Laying his hand upon Aramis' shoulder, much like he had done with d'Artagnan earlier, he said, "You are very much loved, brother. Never forget that."

With that, his hand moved to cover Aramis' hand, resting it quietly there. A moment later, d'Artagnan, emotions high from what he had heard, laid his hand on Athos'.

"About time you two stopped feeling guilty," they heard then, Porthos laying his large hand on top.

"One for all...and all for one," they said as one.


	14. Chapter 14

Aramis and Athos gradually healed, until one day they were overjoyed to be pronounced well enough to be assigned light duty.

Next morning, they once again dressed in their leathers. Pauldrons polished to a shine on their shoulders, courtesy of Porthos, who had worked on them when his brothers were asleep. Weapons once again hung from their belts, and when they had donned their gloves and hats, they headed out the door into the sunshine.

Standing at attention in a row in front of Treville's desk, Aramis was hard put to keep a smile from breaking out on his face. Athos, from whom smiles were much more rare, still looked very satisfied to be away from a sickbed at last.

Treville didn't keep them in suspense for very long as to their assignment.

"I need you four to report for duty at the palace until further notice," he said, watching the smile fall from Aramis' face at his words.

"But Captain...," he got no further with his protest, as Treville interrupted him.

"Are you questioning my order?" he asked.

Aramis, face still registering his confusion and dismay at the assignment, replied, "N..no. Sir."

"Good. You are to report there immediately. Dismissed."

As they filed silently out of the office, varying thoughts ran through each of them's minds.

Aramis couldn't understand it. They weren't usually given palace duty, when their were missions that needed taking care of, and he had overheard the men talking enough from the voices that drifted from the practice yard into the infirmary to know that there were several of them. Did Treville not believe they were healed enough to perform such missions? Had the physician said something to him that hadn't been told to the patients? But he knew he would get nowhere by pushing the Captain too far. He had known him far too long to think any of them could get away with that. Anyone who did would find themselves behind a shovel in the horses' stalls for an undetermined length of time, he chuckled to himself, his naturally cheerful mood returning.

Athos had already figured out what Treville was probably up to, and figured it would have done no good to complain about it. They just needed to grin and bear it. It couldn't last forever.

Porthos and d'Artagnan had already known what was going to happen, and had worked hard at schooling their faces to keep that fact from their brothers, who knew them so well. So the grins at their discomfiture were kept well-hidden.

Treville had told them earlier that morning what he planned to do. He had let them know that, much as they would also hate the assignment (no one liked palace duty, as, since it was almost always quite uneventful, it was also quite boring), he needed them on the same duty because otherwise their recuperating brothers would figure out the assignment was to, as they would call it, 'mollycoddle' them, and would protest mightily.

With all four of them given the duty, just maybe it would work out. Athos and Aramis would be on duty, and they would also have non-dangerous work until they were 100% again.

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They had been serving half a week on the palace grounds. True to form, they were all bored, but the difference was that Porthos and d'Artagnan were bored and happy that their brothers were in a safe place on duty. There were dozens of courtiers staying at the palace, wanting to be near the king so as to possibly curry favors, most of them having rooms overlooking the extensive grounds. There were the legions of gardening staff, all tending the King's grounds. There were also all the servants running on errands throughout the day. No one would dare try anything with that many potential witnesses around.

It was around mid-morning of the fourth day that Athos notice something a bit different in Aramis' behavior. He no longer looked bored, for one thing. He continued to watch his brother, and it finally hit him. Aramis was gazing intently at a window on the far left side of the second floor. 'That's odd,' he thought, continuing his study.

Then, it hit him, and he began striding purposefully towards his brother.

"Aramis," he began, as soon as he reached him.

"Hmmm," was the only reply.

"Aramis! he said a second time, sharply.

That got the marksman's attention on his brother at last. He turned and looked at Athos. "What is it?"

"You should know what it is," Athos told him. "You are staring at the Queen's apartments. Do you have any idea what would happen if the King glanced out of his window and caught you doing that?'

"He isn't here, Athos. Two of the servants were discussing it this morning. Seems he decided to take Richelieu with him to visit one of the churches this morning. Wanted to make a visit, and quite a few of the Red Guards went with them."

"So you figure it is safe to stare up at the Queen's window, hoping she will appear?"

Aramis' face flushed a little, embarrassed at being caught out, like a little boy with his fingers in the freshly-bake cake.

"Aramis, look around. You do know how many of the nobility are here at present-with rooms looking out on the very ground we are standing on? Who are always looking to further their status with the king with any piece of gossip they can pick up?"

Aramis was feeling distinctly uncomfortable now, but spoke up saying, "It is very hard, but I have not tried to see her, Athos, nor will I seek her out."

"I am glad to hear that, Aramis. But if you were caught gazing intently up at her rooms, your life could be forfeit. Especially since it was not so long ago that we were at the convent with her. People like to talk, and we do not want to give them anything to build on. I do not want to see you hung if I can prevent it, brother," his voice softening and quieter as he said the last sentence," his hand laid gently on Aramis' shoulder.

Aramis knew Athos cared deeply, and nodded his head. "I will try harder, Athos."

Strolling away to continue his patrolling, Athos hoped with all his heart that his brother could keep that promise. Athos was glad that his other brothers were patrolling the western end of the palace grounds. He might have had a little explaining to do, which he had rather not have to do. He was hoping to keep the secret just between he and Aramis-and, of course, Anne. It was the best way.

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The rest of their duty that day was uneventful. At the end of their time, all four of them were more than ready for a drink or two a their favorite tavern, The Wren.

Aramis and Athos' number of drinks were kept an eye on by their brothers, and when they had finished two, Porthos signalled the barmaid over for their tab, over Athos and Aramis' vehement objections, which were being solemnly ignored.

Still complaining, albeit now a little more good-naturedly as they headed out the door into the rather chilly night, Porthos kept up a string of jokes he had overheard during the evening in the bar. D'Artagnan excused himself for a few moments, and popped into a shop just as it was attempting to close, hoping to pick up a couple of tarts for Constance.

Continuing down the narrow, badly-lit street, they had all joined into Porthos' rather raucous renditions of some questionable ditties he had heard over the years as they walked.

Turning onto an even dingier and darker street, they watched where they walked. The knew the street, and knew that waste was thrown out of the windows at all hours, even more so than the other streets of Paris. None of them wished to have their nice clean uniforms splattered with an unnameable and gross mess.

They were more than halfway back to the garrison when several men rolled out of a side alley, punching and kicking as they called each other some colorful and vary vulgar names. The Musketeers looked at them, then at each other, shrugging their shoulders and sighing. It was their duty to break up the altercation, so they stepped forward, drawing their weapons as they went.

Athos and Porthos, in the lead, aimed their weapons, as Athos called out in a voice of authority, "Stop in the name of the King!"

The men ceased, but looked as if they were going to divert the focus of their attack to the Musketeers. Athos cocked his pistol, the sound loud in the night air.

"I wouldn't, Musketeers!"

Meanwhile, while this was going on, Aramis felt a massive pair of hands grab him, one around the waist and the other clamping down hard across his mouth, to prevent his calling for assistance. He struggled, but this opponent felt even more massive in size than Porthos, and his attempts were miniscule against the man. He could feel himself being yanked up hard against the man's chest as he continued to try to pull himself loose, all to no avail. The hand over his mouth was so large, it had covered part of his nose, restricting his breathing.

The men in front of Athos and Porthos stopped what they had been doing, smirks plastered accross their faces now. "I think the shoe is on the other feet now!" indicating they look behind them.

Athos and Porthos' blood froze when they saw what had happened while they had been fighting. Aramis was being forcibly restrained hard against a man who was several inches taller than Porthos, and quite a few pounds heavier. Not only was he being held, however. They could see that he was having a great deal of trouble even breathing, something his captor either didn't realize or didn't care too much about.

"Drop your weapons, Musketeers, unless you want to see what happens when someone makes Andre really angry," one of the previously brawling men ordered.

Athos and Porthos slowly complied, then kicked them away when ordered to do so.

Athos said, "He is having trouble breathing. Could your man at least give him some air?"

The first man who had spoken laughed, saying, "That will be the least of his troubles when we are done with him."

He had hardly finished, when a shot rang out in the night air. The lumbering giant holding Aramis whole body jerked, as his hands dropped from the marksman's body and spun around, before thudding hard onto the dirt street. Aramis fell to his knees, coughing and trying to get his breath back.

D'Artagnan came around the corner, smoking gun held in his hand, heading straight for Aramis.

They all reached the marksman about the same time, Porthos holding him against his chest on the ground while Aramis worked to get his breath back. His face slowly turned a healthier shade as he pulled great gasps of breath into his starving lungs. After a few moments, he lay quietly against his brother.

"We certainly weren't expecting that one," he quietly said, glancing back at the now-dead giant splayed on the ground behind him.

Porthos just shushed him, saying, "Don't talk. Just get your breath back for a bit, hmmm?"

Athos, still looking down the street where the others had run to escape, said, "They are certainly a very determined bunch. That was just a little bit too close. We have to do better, gentlemen. This cannot be allowed to happen again."

 _ **They just don't give up, do they? More next week. Please let me know what you think?**_

 _ **The last half of this was written as I was sitting in the ER unexpectedly yesterday.**_


	15. Chapter 15

When the giant's hand had fallen away from the stranglehold he had over Aramis' nose and mouth, the marksman was unable to halt his fall, dropping to land on his knees, gasping for the air he had been denied. His body desperately drank in air as quickly as it could, shaking slightly from his efforts.

It took Aramis a few moments before he was very much aware of anything happening around him.

He felt movements near him. He recognized his brother's voice as Porthos was at his side immediately, moving with great speed despite his massive size. He felt his friend putting his arms around his shoulders to support him. All Aramis was aware of at the moment was that the pressure was gone, and he relaxed in those protective arms as he slowly began to be able to breathe a little better.

He heard Athos and Porthos' voices now, and managed to say something about not expecting an attack. Porthos leaned down and told him not to talk yet. Athos said that whoever these men were, they never seemed to give up, and Aramis, hearing his words, couldn't control a shiver that ran down his spine at that prospect.

Then, the memory of seeing the four men appearing and distracting them returned to him, and with it, a burst of energy that propelled him to his feet, where he began running. Right before his near-blackout from lack of air, he had vaguely seen them run down the street behind his brothers and then veer to the left.

His brothers were startled when he suddenly pulled free of Porthos' grasp and, moving with much more speed than any of them would have thought he could have had given what had happened, took off down the street.

They looked at each other briefly in consternation, realizing what, or rather who, had caused his reaction, and then turning, ran after him. Their brother would have had a clear view of the 'brawlers', and knew which direction they would have gone. The only problem was, he wasn't in prime shape to be taking them on at the moment.

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Aramis had remembered seeing the 'brawlers' head down the street behind Athos and Porthos, then turn sharply to the left before disappearing. All he wanted right now was to catch up with them and prevent their getting away with the attack, not taking into consideration his own depleted bodily resources as he ran.

The medic in him was warning him that he wasn't in good enough shape to be doing this, but he did his best to ignore it. He could feel his lungs protesting vehemently, but pressed on doggedly in the direction his quarry had gone.

When he reached a place in the street where an alleyway branched off he hesitated, then slowing his pace, turned down it. Moving slowly now and staying close to the walls of the ancient timbered houses leaning precariously above his head over the alley, he advanced. His ears were attuned to any sound that might warn him of impending danger, but it approached on silent footfalls.

One minute he was unimpeded, and the next a hand had once more settled over his mouth, while his opponent's other hand wrapped itself around his middle and tugged his body sharply against his attacker's chest, in almost exactly the same position he had just been rescued from.

He briefly though, 'not again'.

Hw struggled, but it didn't do any good. His first brief captor had taken too much out of him. He was again short of breath, which severely hindered his attempts to pull free. The man wasn't nearly as huge as his now-deceased companion, but he was very muscular, and used those muscles to prevent him from pulling away or crying out for help.

Strangely, there seemed to be only one man in the alleyway. There was no sound to indicate others being present. They must have split up to try to divert them, he thought.

Aramis heard a deep, low voice in his ear. "You may have got away the other times, but you're not going anywhere now," he bragged.

Turning Aramis swiftly around, he slammed him up against the wall behind him in one swift motion, then punched him in the back, winding him further.

Before the marksman knew what he was going to do, in one swift motion he took his hand away from Aramis' mouth, intending to silence him with a rag he pulled from a back pocket. He had just pulled it free, when a body slammed into him from the darkness.

The man recovered quickly, probably using his past experiences in a life of crime, and backing away, pulled a wicked long dagger from his belt.

"You should have stayed out of this," he said. "You're a dead man," pulling his arm back to hurl the dagger.

He was stopped in mid-motion when a shot rang out, jerking his whole body around before he dropped to the dirt of the alley.

"Is he all right?" Athos called to d'Artagnan, who had been the one to tackle the now-dead assassin. Returning his pistol to its holster, Athos joined d'Artagnan kneeling next to Aramis.

Their brother surprised them by being the one who breathlessly responded, "Never...better, my..." Interrupted by a bout of coughing, he continued, "I'm fine."

Porthos, who had just joined them, replied, "You'll be knocking at the pearly gates, and still saying you're fine," earning him a look from Aramis that was part smile, part glare, and mixed with exhaustion..

D'Artagnan, assisted by the glow coming from the lantern Porthos now held high above them, lifted his head from checking Aramis over to say, "No additional injuries. He was very lucky," he said, continuing, "except for being even more out of breath than before. He hadn't got all his breath back from his encounter with the giant yet, when he ran into this one," indicatin the man lying still in the dust behind them.

Porthos said, "What were you thinking? Taking off like that. You could have...," stopping when he felt Athos' hand clasp his shoulder gently but firmly.

"Now is not the time, Porthos," he said softly, indicating their now nodding brother, who had given in to his exhaustion from the attacks. As he fell asleep, his lungs still took occasional deep, ragged breaths with a little hitch as they slowly returned to normal.

All of Porthos; worry and frustration at his perceived brother's reckless pursuit disappeared at the sight of his beloved brother's upper body sagging in d'Artagnan's arms.

Handing the lantern to d'Artagnan, he gathered him gently and lifting him up to rest against his chest, Porthos breathed a sigh of relief, echoed by Athos and d'Artagnan, and they headed back to the garrison. By the time they reached the gates, Porthos and his brothers' hearts were just very happily relieved that, despite two attempts that night, he was safe and relatively unscathed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had barely come through the gates when Treville strode rapidly towards them across the compound.

"What happened?" he demanded, a clear note of concern threading through his words.

Athos filled him in as they continued walking, wanting to get Aramis into his bed as soon as possible.

Reaching his brother's room, Porthos turned the doorknob. "He is leaving it unlocked again?"

Athos replied, "As a rule, yes."

Porthos waid, "I'm going to have words with him about that. I've never thought it was a good idea, but right now, it's a downright terrible one."

Athos agreed, commenting, "It is not easy to get into our garrison. But nothing thus far seems to have stopped these men. Locking the door is a very sensible idea at the moment."

Moving into the neat, clean room, filled with books, a pistol or two, and neatly folded clothes, Porthos laid Aramis down softly, not wanting to wake him up. His brother immediately snuggled his arms around the pillow his head now lay on, an unconscious little contented sigh escaping him that brought a smile to his brother's faces.

Next to his bed sat a small table, containing a Bible and a rosary, a testament to their brother's strong faith that those items were closest to him while he slept. The key to his room was the only other item on the table.

Making sure the shutters were closed and latched, they moved quietly out, locking the door behind them.

Porthos, after retrieving a blanket from his room next door, let himself back into his friend's room. Relocking the door behind him, he wrapped himself in the blanket, and stretched out on the floor next to the bed. He was asleep almost as soon as he had laid his head down.

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Aramis had slept through the night and nearly to midday before awakening. As he stretched his arms high above his head, memories of the night before returned to flit through his mind, and he sat bolt upright and swung one leg off the bed.

He was not in the least surprised to find Porthos waking up on his floor. His brother was almost as much a mother hen when it came to his friend as he was himself. He couldn't remember a time that he had been injured or ill and not found Porthos wrapped in the same blanket he was now flinging off of himself.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, a strern expression on his face as he looked at his brother.

"I would have thought that was obvious, mon ami," Aramis cheekily replied. "I am getting out of bed."

No. You're. Not. Porthos emphasized each word, getting to his feet and crossing his arms to emphasize his point.

"But I am just..."

"If you say that one more time...," Porthos was just warming up now. "You could barely breathe last night. Then..." he paused, outrage evident in his voice. "Then, of all the reckless things you've done since I've known you...," pausing for a moment.

"Yes?" Aramis dared to say in the moment's silence.

The word was enough to start Porthos up again. "You were nearly killed. You could barely breathe, and you take off...alone...after four men?"

"Well..."

But Porthos wasn't going to be stopped now.

"You had no idea what weapons they were carrying. It was so dark in the alley, it was the perfect place to waylay someone. That someone being you, the one they wanted in the first place. Did you think of any of those things?"

"Well, no, but..."

"You're lucky we found you before the second man finished what the first one had started." Aramis, knowing his brother so well and how much he was loved by him, also knew Porthos needed to work out his emotions, so he didn't really try to stop him.

Now that Porthos had verbalized his anger, the worry and fear surfaced to color his words. "I could have...we could have lost you last night, Aramis. I dont' think I..." and the tears from his remembered panic slowly traced their way down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I was angry at these unknown assailants. I thought if we could track them down, we could get to the bottom..."

Porthos interrupted him, saying, "One against four, and that one not in peak form? Aramis," he was speaking softly again, his eyes boring into his brother. "Not alone. Never alone against those kinds of odds. I'm the gambler. I wouldn't even place a bet that long."

Aramis could hear the raw emotions coming from his brother. It had never been his intention to crearte the hurt htat he could now hear.

Porthos was continuing. "If we hadn't got there in time...if you had died..." trailing off, not wanting to voice more of his great fear now.

Instead of speaking, Aramis walked into, and allowed himself to be enfolded by those massive arms. He had truly not conceived that what he had done would effect his best friend as badly as it obviously had. He would never intentionally hurt Porthos or his other brothers. His only ill-thought out intention had been wanting to finally terminate this unknown vendetta before one of his brothers was injured or killed. He seldom thought about the danger to himself, placing those he loved far ahead of self.

They were totally silent for a short while, before Porthos backed up to look Aramis in the eyes.

"So, are we going to get a little more shut-eye?"

Aramis heaved a dramatic sigh, saying in a plaintive tone, "Needs must, mon ami. Needs must," turning with a flourish back to his bed and plopping himself down with a forearm over his eyes.

Porthos just rolled his eyes and grinned.


	16. Chapter 16

Morning came, and Aramis awoke to a very serious Athos seated on the side of his bed. From the expression on his face, Aramis deduced that his brother had something important that he had been waiting for him to awaken to discuss with him. With a sinking feeling, he knew exactly what it was, too.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he decided to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and opened his mouth to speak, only for Athos to raise a hand for silence and spoke himself.

"Aramis, how do you feel?" he asked, throwing the marksman off at the unexpected words.

Recovering, he responded, "I've been worse."

"That is not exactly what I asked," Athos reminded him, but spoke this time in a gentle tone with a raised eyebrow as he waited again.

"My breathing is better. I am sure that you will find a rather large bruise on my lower back, though."

This gave Athos pause, the information volunteered surprised him, as they usually had to push much harder to get their brother to admit to injuries. They also had not known about the punch he had received in the alleyway.

Seeing Athos waiting expectantly, Aramis gave a long-suffering sigh and turned himself around, pulling up the back of his shirt. Sure enough, a large, purpling bruise was centered right in the middle of his lower back, close to his waistline. Athos, without a word, rose and retrieved an ointment from Aramis' much-used medic bag. Sitting back down, he began rubbing a small amount into the bruise, Aramis unable to hide a grimace as he did so.

"Aramis," Athos began once again as he continued his ministrations, "you do realize this was completely avoidable?"

Hesitating before answering, Aramis took a deep breath and said, "I just didn't want any harm to come to any of you because..."

Athos let him get that far before interrupting, speaking in a firm, no-nonsense tone but with a distinct underlying note of sadness,"Aramis do you not know that any harm to you would wound us, as well? We are brothers, mon ami, with everything that implies. When one is in danger or injured, we all hurt. When you too, off as you did, the pain of your possibly being waylaid and killed before we could get to you filled all of us. You would sacrifice yourself for us to protect us from harm, but if you had not survivied, something would have died inside of us." Reaching his hand out, Athos softly clasped it behind his brother's neck, pullling him forward until their foreheads rested together, letting his words soak in.

Aramis, in a quiet voice, said, "I'm sorry. I didn't think I was..."

Athos, before he could finish, said, "Aramis, you do have a tendency to rush in sometimes, and you do so from the heart with good intentkons. Your heart is very big. It is open to each of us, to anyone who is a victim, to the injured, the lost, the foresaken. But you need to have a care for yourself, as well. That is all I am asking of you, brother."

Athos seldom spoke for this length of time, which alone told Aramis how concerned his brother was. But the words. He rarely thought of himself in emergency situations, always have an eye out for his brothers, and for those in need. But as he thought about Athos' words now, he could see how he had to have affected them when he had taken off down that deserted street alone and unarmed-as he himself would have felt if one of the others had done so. But he also knw that he would sacrifice himself without a qualm if, in doing so, he could save their lives. He just had to be a little more careful to try to do both in the future, if possible.

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Porthos came and found Athos later. "Did you talk any sense into him?" he asked.

"I think he feels very bad about worrying us all," Athos replied. "But we know Aramis. In the heat of the moment, and if one of us is endangered, I believe he cannot help responding the way he does. He sincerely thought that the men who are after him might hurt or kill one of us in trying to achieve their objective. We need to watch him very carefully until these mysterious men are apprehended...or killed."

Porthos solemnly nodded his head in agreement.

Athos spoke up again, surprising Porthos in what he said this time. "Did you notifce that in the attack this time, no one was hooded. They wore no masks, either. Why? Something has changed in their strategy, and we need to be diligent in finding them before they try again."

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The two men met beneath the city, Paris having miles of a centuries-old sewer system that most people either didn't know existed or considered long-abandoned. It was perfect, if not exactly the cleanest of places to conduct business, if your business included violence, kidnapping and murder.

The prelate who had once again requested, or rather demanded the meeting, held his expensive robes and cloak high with one hand to avoid the likely possibility of them being soiled. The other held a fine lace handkerchief over his nose to block out the noxious odors permeating the sewers.

"This is taking entirely too long," he began. "I am not paying you good coin to drink and gamble your days and nights away."

"We will get your work done, Your Eminence. Never fear. We have just had a small change in tactics, which will be a little more costly but will work out better for us."

"The richly-clothed man started at this, exclaiming, "I am already paying you far more than enough for what I have told you to do. What else could you possibly need?"

"We are not in the countryside any longer. Men wearing hoods will draw too much unwanted attention and suspicion here in Paris. I have begun hiring different men for the lower ranks of our band, and keeping them for no longer than a week at a time. Constantly-changing faces are not easy to be found, making us more anonymous to any Musketeers who may be charged with seeking us out."

After a pause, the other man spoke, sounding reflective. "I must say, that is actually a very good idea. I approve. What else have you in mind?"

"We talked among ourselves, and decided, with your approval of course, to use one of the Musketeer's friends to lure him in. The man will disappear for several days, probably causing panic when they don't know where he is. We have found that he has three men our quarry sees as brothers, and they care a great deal about each other, a liability for them but a great help to us. When we send a Musketeer a demand to come and meet us-alone- if he wishes to see the friend we hold alive again, I think it will be safe to say we will at last have him in our trap. Then, it is up to you if you wish him killed and in what way, or if you wish him brought somewhere."

"I have a specific place in mind for him. Before he dies a very prolonged death, he will have plenty of time to reflect upon the error of his ways. He will know before he finally dies that it was a grave error to cross my path," abruptly turning at his last words again, and walking away to be swallowed up in the murky darkness surrounding them. He left the hired man standing alone, profoundly grateful that he was not the focus of the man's evil plans.

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The Musketeers decided to celebrate that evening. Porthos had suggested dinner and drinks at his favorite tavern, The Cat and Hound. The others tried to convince him that he should pay for the evening too, but Porthos protested loudly enough that they relented, their laughter drawing the attention of the men sparring in the compound, who laughed with them.

It felt good to have a lighthearted moment again, and they began to banter among themselves as to how much Porthos would win at cards that evening.

None of them saw the two men who followed them to the tavern at a discreet distance, nor did they see anyone behind them on their way back to the garrison in the wee hours of the morning, laughing uproariously as they walked.

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Next morning at muster, Treville handed out their assignments. Aramis and Porthos had palace duty, with Porthos grumbling at the assignment being boring. Aramis was now seeing any type of palace duty in a new light, because Anne was back from an extended visit to her cousin's home. She had been gone for almost a month. It made all the difference in the world, as he didn't mind palace duty if there was a chance of seeing the woman he loved, and who was carrying their child in her womb.

Treville wanted Athos to stay behind to discuss a few matters with his lieutenant. D'Artagnan had requested the day, as Constance had asked if he could be permitted to question the people of her neighborhood about the amount of thievery going on there. Treville had granted the request, grateful that so far, it was only taking one man away from the garrison, and only for a short while at that. He was hoping that if d'Artagnan could come up with a clue or two, he wouldn't have to detail more men to go house to house.

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Aramis and Porthos left early, so had plenty of time to take a more leisurely pace to the palace. It was a beautiful spring day. They made a couple of stops on the way, including a purchase at the elderly apple-vendor's cart for Aramis, and a sweet treat for Porthos at the bakery.

Leaving the bakery, Porthos began to tease his friend. "Celeste only had eyes for one person. Not that you noticed, right?"

Aramis, who had his mind on Anne, responded, "Mmm."

Porthos, looking sideways at him and seeing him preoccupied, said, "Snow's coming down a mite harder now," and was puzzled when he heard "Um hmm."

"The King's cavorting in the street in his breeches and boots." When this got no reaction at all, Porthos reached over and lightly punched Aramis in the shoulder.

That finally got his brother's attention. "What was that for?" a mock-outraged Aramis demanded.

"Where were you?" Porthos asked him. "Your body is here, but where is the rest of you?"

"Just enjoying the day, my friend. Like you should be doing."

Porthos gave up. "You better be alert while we're on guard duty, mon ami. You know how the King is. Important things pass him by, but a small detail like a day-dreaming Musketeer will catch his attention. Stay alert!" the last comment spoken with a grin.

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Constance insisted upon coming with d'Artagnan as he visited some of the houses of her neighborhood. They enjoyed the time to spend together, something they didn't get nearly enough of. Constance, even while feeling guilty of going behind her husband's bafck, still was thrilled to be with the man she had grown to love for a little while. They didn't dare hold hands, or even steal a quick kiss. But just being with each other was a treat for both of them.

When they finished visiting the houses, they hadn't gleaned any information that might give them a clue as to who the thief was. No one seemed to have observed anything out of the ordinary. Constance insisted that d'Artagnan come in when he had escorted her back to her house. She had a meal of fresh-baked bread, cheese and fruit she wanted to serve to him before he headed back to the garrison.

Her husband was still not back when d'Artagnan finished, so he stole a short kiss on his way out.

Smiling in contentment, she waved goodbye as he started down the street back to the garrison. Closing the door behind her and leaning back against the wood, her eyes closed for a moment, recalling the day they had spent together.

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D'Artagnan headed home whistling, something he didn't do very often. The scent of Constance's hair still lingered, and he smiled to himself.

He was about halfway back on a quiet side street, when he was suddenly yanked into the alleyway by a pair of hands. Something hit him hard on the side of his head. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. Arms reached out to grab hold of him again, and drag him further down the dark alleyway to a waiting cart.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Just a short note: As I put in a review to my story earlier in the week, I do not write slash, just the love and care of each Musketeer has for the others, a true brotherhood.**_

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It wasn't until the next morning at muster that Athos, Porthos and Aramis noticed that d'Artagnan was absent. They had figured that the evening before when he had been invited to stay for dinner at the Bonacieux home. that he had stayed afterwards to visit and come back late.

A few moments after they noticed and exchanged concerned glances among themselves, Treville descended the stairs from his office. He no sooner stood in front of his line of men than his eyes sought out the Inseparables in a silent question.

Athos responded for all of them, shaking his head that they didn't know where their missing brother was.

Treville handed out assignments to everyone except them, dismissed his men, and took them aside and up to his office.

"You don't have any idea as to his wherabouts?" he asked as soon as the office door closed behind them.

Athos again spoke for all of them. "We has assumed that he stayed at the Bonaieux house to dinner and returned a little late."

"You do not have any dea where he could be then?"

"No, sir," they all responded, almost as one.

"Your duty, all three of you, is to find him. Dismissed."

Just the abruptness of his speech told them how concerned Treville was, and that he was trying to hide his worry.

[ Heading back down the stairs, Porthos said, "Where do we look first?"

"I believe a visit to Madame Madame Bonacieux is on order first, and see if perhaps he had mentioned to her something he needed to do," Athos said, although from the way in which he spoke, it was clear that he didn't hold out much hope of their learning any more from her.

All three of them had a bad feeling but didn't voice them aloud as they headed out of the garrison gates that morning.

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D'Artagnan awoke almost a day later to a massive headache. When he opened his eyes at first, everything was a white blur. Dazedly, he tried to remember his last waking moment, but wasn't cognizant enough yet to think straight.

Attemting to lift his head up brought an increase of the pain in his head, and his world darkened again.

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As they had suspected, Constance didn't have any information that could help them locate their missing brother. What the visit did do, however, was cause her to begin to worry about what might have happened to him on the way back to the garrison the previous night.

"Constance," Aramis began, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure this will prove to be just a case of forgetting to tell us or you about an errand he needed to take care of," not relieving believing what he was telling her, but not wanting her to be wracked with worry.

She looked at him doubtfully.

"We will find him, " he continued. "It may just be nothing he wants to talk about, a family member or something of that nature," lightly squeezing her shoulder as he spoke.

They left the Bonacieux home. Even though they hadn't really thought she would have anything to contribute to their search, Constance's worry had heightened they own.

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They began the rounds of taverns they frequented, even though it was early in the day, figuring it wouldn't hurt to talk to the owners and barkeepers, who were often one and the same person. They also questioned the barmaids during the quiet hours when not nearly as many patrons were present in the taverns.

By late afternoon, they were once again disappointed that no one working at any of the taverns had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary the night before. Some of the owners were also reticent to speak with them at all about their customers, afraid to lose business. But the ones who did all said they had seen no one fitting d'Artagnan's description in their establishments, except for when he had come in with them.

They also planned to come back later when these taverns were bustling and crowded with patrons, this time to mingle with the men drinking and card-playing to see if any of them had anything to contribute.

They headed back to the garrison for dinner, hoping against hope that d'Artagnan's smiling face would be there to greet them. But there was no sign of him.

Where was he, and what had happened to him?

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D'Artagnan slowly came back to consciousness again, the violent headache still present. He was more lucid this time, though.

Lying still for a few minutes, he waited for his vision to clear. Looking around, he saw that he was in some kind of cell. It looked ancient, and as if it had been unused for a very long time.

Not understanding why his body seemed rather numb, he tried to lift himself up to see more, and that's when he discovered he was bound hand and foot. Now that he was fully ocnscious, he also found that he was tightly gagged, as well. Why, he wondered. I'm already locked in a cell.

Who took me, he asked himself as he attempted to wriggle his hands in an effort to loosen the ropes around them. They must have been tied by an expert, he dejectedly thought, when he hadn't managed any leeway at all after quite some time trying.

He next tried to get the gag loose by rubbing it against the floor, only to hear a deep voice warn him, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Musketeer."

Twisting his head with difficulty towards the door, as he had been lying facing the back wall of the cell, he made out a large bear of a man leaning against the bars. All he could really see was the shape of him in the dim light.

"You don't really want to know what we will use on you next to keep you quiet. We can be quite inventive."

Who was he? What did he want with him, he asked himself.

Unlocking the cell door, the man strolled over towards d'Artagnan, stopping a few feet away. The Gascon froze when he looked up at the man. His head was covered by a hood, and d'Artagnan suddenly knew exactly why they had taken him.

Bait!

They were going to force Aramis to come to them, since they probably had not been able to find a way to penetrate the Garrison security.

They would demand that Aramis come unarmed and hand himself over, or they would kill his brother. D'Artagnan was sick at the thought, as he knew his beloved brother well, and that is exactly what he would do-give his life for his brother.

I have to find a way out of this, he thought desperately to himself. I couldn't live with myself if I caused Aramis' death.

So distracted were his thoughts, tha he didn't hear the man talking to him as he untied the gag.

"...so easy to nab, too. Got your mind all filled with that pretty young woman you had just left, I'll bet. I probably would be too...real nice, she was."

"You keep away from her!" d'Artagnan yelled, struggling anew with his bound hands.

The man just laughed. "Or what! I'm shaking with fear! You're forgetting where you are. I could step on you like a bug right now. Slice your throat, and no one would ever find you down here." Leaning down until d'Artagnan could feel his rancid breath on his face, the man continued. "You are merchandise and nothing more. You wll buy us what we need, then we make sure no one ever finds either one of you after we're through with him. Our benefactor did say, though, that he plans on taking his time with him, so you are going to become intimately acquainted with that floor you're laying on before your life comes to an end."

"What do you want with him? He is the kindest..."

The rest of his words were cut off as the man tied the gag back in place.

"We don't care if he is the nicest man ever born, a saint. We are being extremely well-paid for our work by someone who wants him really bad. I wouldn't want to be your friend when our benefactor gets him in his clutches."

Turning to leave, he stopped and looked back and down at his captive. "You better hope he turns himself over quick too, or we will need to use more persuasion, and you are our means of forcing him to be compliant. Guess what we're going to do to persuade him?" an evil chuckle sending a chill down d'Artagnan's spine as he heard it.

"We don't really need to gag you either," he said as he closed and locked the cell door again. "Our benefactor went out of his way to find men who just enjoy tormenting people. No one would be able to hear you anyway. This part of the Chatelet has been bricked off for a century or more. You're it's only tenant," he said, laughing again as he disappeared down the hallway.

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It had been three days since d'Artagnan had disappeared. Athos, Porthos and Aramis continued to have no luck as they checked out every possible place they could think of to find him. They fell into their beds exhausted each night, only to not be able to sleep as their minds tried to think of anywhere else they could try.

On the morning of the fourth day, a young lad of seven or eight came to the garrison gates, saying he was bringing a message for the Inseparables. He stumbled over the word, which was strange to him, the guards wondering how he even would know it to begin with.

One of the men ran and got Athos, who was eating breakfast with Porthos and Aramis. Heading for the gate, they were surprised to see that the message bearer was so young.

"I hear that you have brought me something?" he asked, smiling at the boy to calm his obvious nervousness standing in front of three men so heavily armed.

"Yes, monsieur," he replied, handing Athos the note he had in his hand.

Opening the paper, Athos' smile instantly disappeared. "Who told you to give this to me?" he said sharply.

The boy's face went from nervous to outright fear at the tone.

Seeing this, Aramis knelt down and said, "We can't find our friend, and it has made us upset. Athos is not mad at you, I promise," taking a small coin from his pocket and handing it the lad.

The boy started to turn around and leave, when Athos said, much more softly than before, "Do you know the man who asked you to bring this to me?"

The boy shook his head. "He jus' come up 'n ask me. Tol' me where you be. Made me say In..In..you know, til I done it right. Give me a coin, jus' like this one," holding up Aramis' coin.

Athos bent down and put another coin in the boy's hand, the lad's eyes now as wide as saucers, probably never having even seen that much money before. He doffed his cap, turned around and ran off through the gates.

Aramis and Porthos were impatient to learn about the contents of the note. Athos slowly said, "The hooded men have d'Artagnan."


	18. Chapter 18

When all three Musketeers had read the missive, the silence was deafening, until Porthos finally broke it, his voice far quieter than normal.

"What do we do now?" the very words unusual for coming from a man who was always ready to jump right into any trouble he met. But this time, the consequences either way could cause the death of one of his brothers.

"We need to sit down and come up with a course of action," Athos said.

Aramis, whose eyes finally lifted from the patch of dirt he seemed to have been studying, spoke. "It's me they want. If I..."

He didn't get any further as Porthos interrupted. "You're not walking right into their hands to your death! I'll tie you to your bed myself to stop you."

"Maybe I can talk..."

"You'd be dead as soon as they laid their hands on you. No, Aramis, out of the question. You're not going anywhere," Porthos retorted.

"Athos..."

"No, Aramis," the swordsman quietly stopped his brother. "Porthos is right. These men have proven that they have one goal in mind, and they will do anything to gain it. I have seen them up close..." stopping for a moment as memories of the torment he had endured forced themselves back into his mind.

Aramis, guilt mixing now with his worry for d'Artagnan, laid a hand on Athos' shoulder and squeezed, saying, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring back that incident."

Athos shook his head slightly as if to rid his mind of the pain he had gone through, and continued. "You do not have anything for which you should apologize, Aramis. As for our dilemma, trading yourself for d'Artagnan would not work from several sides. We do not know if d'Artagnan is even...alive. If he is, they would not release him if they gave yourself to them as he can identify them. You would be giving them what they want, but we would be torn apart at your loss," the last said so softly, his voice was barely audible. "We will not allow you to sacrifice yourelf, mon ami," he added in a quiet but commanding voice.

"What can we do then?" the marksman asked.

"We demand proof that they have d'Artagnan, and that he is alive."

"How do we do that when we don't have a clue as to where to send a message?"

"We leave a message posted on the garrison gate," Athos said. "Anyone as interested in a Musketeer as this group is has had eyes on the garrison since we got back. We do not know their identities, so they could walk right up and read the paper." After a moment, he added, "if the individual who happens to see it an even read," almost as an afterthought.

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Later that day, a wiry-looking man with a face like leather stopped as he passed the garrison gates, squinting at the paper hung there with a nail. Moving closer, he studied the words for a few minutes. Then, looking around, he didn't see anyone observing him, and so took his time reading it again. Snatching the note off the gate, he scurried away, a crafty little grin plastered on his face now.

From an upper level room inside of the garrison, Porthos, whose turn it had been to keep watch, moved quickly outside and down the steps, shouting for Athos and Porthos as he descended.

They met him before he reach the bottom step.

Athos asked him, "They saw it?"

Porthos nodded, describing the man he had seen, saying nothing about him looked familiar. He told them also about the smile he had seen on the man's face, the one he wanted to remove with his fists.

"So, now we wait for their next move," Athos grimly said.

Porthos was observing Aramis, who hadn't said a word since their morning discussion, whih was highly unusual for the usually talkative marksman. He and Athos' eyes met and Athos nodded, their expressions almost identical and worried.

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After dinner, at which Aramis continued his silence, staring down at his food while he ate, he excused himself and headed off to his room.

Much later, his door silently opened. The marksman emerged, hat pulled down low over his eyes.

Taking a deep breath of relief that the courtyard looked deserted, he started to move away from his door when Athos moved to his left side, and Porthos to his right.

"And you were going where, might I ask?" as the swordsman laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulders.

Face fallen, Aramis' plaintive voice replied, "Let me go. Please!"

Porthos answered, "You know we can't do that."

"I can't live with myself if d'Artagnan is killed because of me."

"And we cannot bear to see you killed if we can prevent it, Aramis. We have had much the same discussion already," Athos said.

"It's my decision. He wouldn't even have been taken except for me."

"Having two lives forfeit is not the answer, mon ami. We will get him back, but not at the expense of sacrificing yours," gently but firmly steering his brother back into his room and into a chair. Porthos closed the door behind them. Then, he and Athos sat down on either side of their distraught brother.

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Porthos told Aramis, "If you give yourself up, you won't be saving d'Artagnan's life, Aramis. He is a witness. They can't afford to leave him alive. They will kill you both. You know that."

Athos added, "You are just badly worried at the moment, as are we all. If you were to give yourself up to them, both of you would be killed. They cannot kill d'Artagnan right now, as Porthos just said. They need him alive."

" He is their only bargaining chip right now," continued Porthos.

Aramis listened to his brothers, fingers restlessly threading through his hair from from front to back. Their words were beginning to get through to his tormented mind.

He knew they were right that the hooded men would take d'Artagnan's life quickly and brutally once the got their hands on him. But he couldn't bear the waiting, not knowing what condition his brother might be in.

He also knew that both of his brothers would feel the same as himself if the situation were reversed, though. They were called The Inseparables for good reason.

Finally lifting his head, he met each of his brother's eyes, his pain revealed plainly to them, and saw the identical emotion looking back at him.

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Later that evening, Porthos threw a blanket on the floor in front of the door, and was asleep within minutes. Athos had said he would be back to spell him in a few hours. Aramis felt lovingly smothered by his protective brothers. He also knew he would be going nowhere without at least one of them's company for the time being. Heavy eyes finally closed, almost against his will.

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Athos, who had replaced Porthos midway through the night, was awakened just as the rays of the morning sun were lighting up the sky by an urgent call outside. It was the guard at the gate, he thought, as he quickly got up off the blanket and on his feet from where he had been asleep moments before. He found Aramis getting out of bed, tousled curls askew and sleepy eyes looking at him. Moments later, the door flew open at Porthos' entrance.

Heading out the door, they made straight for the gates, where the night guard held up a burlap bag. When they reached him, he handed the bag to Athos, who asked him when it had come.

"It was here when I came down to relieve Jacques," he said with a disgusted face. "I asked him, but he didn't see or hear anything. He didn't even see the bag! Probably fell asleep during his watch," he scoffed, showing his disdain for the previous man's lack of watchfulness.

Sighing over a missed oportunity to possibly have glimpsed the person delivering the bag, Atos made a mental note to himself to inform Treville of the previous guard's inattentiveness.

Turning his attention to the bag, he slowly opened it, not really sure what to expect inside.

Reaching inside, he slowly pulled out a very familiar brown doublet. "D'Artagnan!" Aramis and Porthos loudly exclaimed, worry instantly redoubled at the sight.

The jacket, which had been wadded up in the bag, as Athos opened it revealed several large splotches of blood.

Athos and Porthos looked at each other, both thinking the same thing; if it had been difficult to keep Aramis from wanting to sacrifice himself before, they knew it had just become ten times more difficult.

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That night during Porthos' watch, he woke to the sound of wild thrashing and Aramis crying out in his sleep, his voice laden with pain and guilt. "Let him go! I'm the one you want. D'Artagnan! Don't hurt..." By that time, Porthos was at his bedside, massive arms wrapped around his brother to soothe his frenzied brother.

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D'Artagnan had no idea what day it was, of what time of day in the dark cell in which he was confined. He also had no idea how long he had been there.

His hands and feet had long since gone numb. His mouth was bone dry from the gag , even though they had actually given him a cup of water-yesterday, two days ago, he just wasn't sure. The cloth in his mouth had leeched it right out again, though. His body was cramping from laying in the same position for so long.

He was helpless, and hated the feeling, but there was nothing he could do about it. He just hoped his brothers would somehow find him before these men's evil plans could come to fruition.

The same hooded man had come in several times since he had been there, always taunting him. All d'Artagnan could do is glare back at him from his position on the floor.

He heard booted feet approaching his cell again, this time two pair. Any break in the routine was very noticeable when he had nothing else he could do. The same man unlocked and entered the cell, this time followed my a second person, hooded as well.

They came over and stood looking down at him. D'Artagnan worked hard to keep his unease at their looming presence hidden from his features.

The first man said, "We delivered your doublet today. I can just imagine the shock on the faces of those friends of yours when they pulled it out of the bag all bloodied," laughing at his own comment. D'Artagnan noticed that the second person didn't seem to find the comment amusing . Curious.

The older man saw d'Artagnan looking at his companion. "He's wondering who you are, boy."

Looking down at d'Artagnan, he continued. "I'm initiating my baby brother into the good life, as if it's any of your business. It doesn't matter if you know more than you should, because you won't be around much longer anyway. That brother of yours that we are after? If all our information about you Inseparables is true, seeing that doublet of yours all bloody will drive him right into our hands. Then we will be richer than we ever could have imagined."

Every word was like a hammer to his heart. Yes, that was exactly what Aramis would do. He had to escape. There had to be a way.

"Mattieu, when did you become like this? Was it when you were a soldier and saw so much violence? You know I don't want any part..." his words cut off as his brother backhanded him across the face.

"Who took you in when our parents passed on? Put food on the table? I expect obedience from you, not defiance. You're in this now. There's no backing out. Whatever we do, you will be hung for, too, if we're caught. Don't go feeling sorry for this one, either. He's a dead man, like you will be if anyone suspects you of having a soft heart. Now, go help Albert with the supplies," giving his brother a rough shove towards the cell door, and following him out, the young man's head swiveling around to look back at him as he went. The cell door clanged shut, leaving d'Artagnan once more with his thoughts in his solitary confinement. But, in his mind there was a small ray of hope now.


	19. Chapter 19

Porthos stayed with Aramis for the rest of the night, even though his brother looked like he had finally fallen into a restful sleep. Porthos began to nod off as well.

Aramis woke again in the wee hours of the morning, the image of the bloodied doublet coming to his mind soon after he was alert. He lay with his eyes closed, pondering his dilemma.

He didn't know what to do. His heart told him to give himself up to save d'Artagnan's life. But he also wasn't naive, and knew the men holding him weren't to be trusted to keep their word. They could very well kill d'Artagnan as well as himself. He also didn't want to betray his brothers by taking off after they had been doing everything they could to protect him.

But it was a chance he had to take, and he knew his brothers would understand his motives, even though they would be boiling angry with him, as well. He couldn't just stand by with one of his brothers' lives at stake. The hooded men had shown no hesitation in torturing Athos, and threatening d'Artagnan to force hi to come to them. There really wasn't another option that he could think of.

He would willingly sacrifice his life for any of his brothers. He loved them. He also knew that they felt exactly the same about him, which was why it was going to be extremely difficult to find a way to elude their protection in order to help d'Artagnan. He didn't want them to discover his 'escape' and follow him. Not only could it cause the hooded men to kill d'Artagnan anyway if they became aware of it, but it could also bring about the deaths of Athos and Porthos, as well.

But being the naturally conficent man he was, he was sure he would come up with a way that would work. He just didn't have much time to devise that plan.

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D'Artagnan tried to be patient, hoping the young man would come to his cell without his brother. He had seen the compassion in his eyes, and it had triggered a sense of hope he had almost given up on. He had to get to Aramis before the marksman sacrificed himself to free him.

Time seemed to inch along, like a caterpillar moving slowly on the ground making it's way to whatever caterpillars do all day long. Just as he was figuring it wouldn't be today, he heard footsteps-a single pair and lighter than Mattieu's, he thought excitedly.

Then, he saw the young man pull a key ring out of his pocket and unlock the cell door. Crossing rapidly to d'Artagnan and kneeling down, he reached behind the Gascon's head to undo the gag. D'Artagnan let out a long sigh of relief when it came off and licked his lips, his mouth terribly thirsty. The young man took a small container of water from where it was attached on his waist, and lifting d'Artagnan's shoulders, helped him to drink from it.

"i can't cut you loose yet. They are on the other side of the property right now, so I figured it would be safe to come down for a few minutes. I'm sorry for what they did to you."

D'Artagnan said, in a voice that was dry from disuse, "Will you help me, please? I can't be the cause of my brother's death."

The young man said, "Not yet. They plan to go to town tomorrow or the next day. I volunteered to guard you," he said with a small smile. "Then I will help you to escape. But you have to take me with you. They will kill me when they find out, even my brother."

D'Artagnan almost groaned. More waiting! But it was the only chance he had. He just hoped it wouldn't be too late. "What is your name?" he asked him.

"Laurent," the young man responded. "I don't know yours, either."

"It's d'Artagnan," the Gascon told him. "I will try to be as patient as I can til you can free me."

Laurent told him, "I don't dare stay longer. They will be back. I'm sorry. I have to gag you again," and d'Artagnan nodded reluctantly, knowing he was right.

When the cloth was once more in place, Laurent headed for the cell door, locking it behind him, and looking back at d'Artagnan with an expression almost of hope. That young man is as desperate to escape as I am," d'Artagnan realized as the silence once more settled around him like a gloomy black fog.

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Aramis spent the day with his brothers, sharing meals at their table, and teasig some of the cadets as the went through their training in the compound.

Every once in a while, he would become very solemn, his eyes misting over and Athos and Porthos knew he was thinking about d'Artagnan.

Treville had every available man scouring Paris, but Athos and Porthos' assignment remained to guard Aramis. The three of them would have been hunting, too, but not that day, with a street carnival going on close the garrison. It would have given the hooded men too easy an opportunity to attempt something.

Instead, they were all confined to the garrison by order of Treville, who refused to bend on the matter.

By suppertime, they were a very frustrated threesome as they sat and ate their supper.

"Treville doesn't think we can defend ourselves?" Porthos growled.

"Porthos, you know he has a very good reason for his order," Athos chided him.

"There would be too many witnesses to try anything in the streets today," Porthos objected.

"Porthos." Athos knew it was just the inaction that was driving the big man crazy. Porthos would never risk his brother's life. He just couldn't stand being confined.

A cup slammed down onto the table causing their attention to veer in Aramis' direction. When Athos' eyebrow rose in question, Aramis raiseed his voice as he said,

"I don't need watching. I'm a grown man surrounded by the walls of this garrison. How much safer could I be?"

Athos, recognizing frustration of another sort, spoke softly in direct contrast to his friend's outburst. "Aramis, you know and we know that you do have a somewhat reckless nature at times. You feel it is your fault that d'Artagnan is being threatened, and you want to go charging out to rescue him." Seeing that Aramis was about to object, Athos raised his voice and went on, "Aramis, that is exactly what they want. They know where we are, but as yet, we do not know their whereabouts. It is too dangerous a chance to take."

Seeing that he wasn't really getting through, he said, Maybe after the carnival is over tomorrow, Treville will relent and allow us to joi the hunt. For now would you try to relax?"

Aramis shrugged, and gave a small sigh of defeat. They all got up from the table and headed for Aramis' room for a game of cards.

Despite the crisp night air, Aramis insisted they leave the window open, saying he felt caged in enough already.

It wasn't like him to be grouchy. Athos and Porthos decided they would just put up with the nippy air for the evening. They knew that if the situation were reversed, they would probably be just as upset as Aramis was at the inaction right now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, while it was Porthos' turn to stay with Aramis, Athos entered. Seeing that Aramis was sound asleep, he gestured to Porthos to come outside. Porthos looked over at Aramis, wondering how he could sleep in the freezing room, shrugged his shoulders and came through the door to join Athos.

Athos closed the door most of the way, and said almost in a whisper, "If we are released to help search tomorrow, we really need to keep an eye on him. He is not himself right now, which makes him vulnerable."

"I don't really blame him. Every time he moves, we're right there. I'm not even the one being guarded, and it's getting to me."

"I understand too, Porthos. But if one of the men who are after him can come right up to the gasrrison gates to take that note, it is not safe."

After discussing strategy for a possible day on the streets tomorrow, Athos finally said, " Let us get back inside. It is freezing out here."

But going back inside, they were stunned to find that Aramis was no longer asleep, and no longer in the room. A telltale waft of freezing air from the window told them exactly where he had gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

D'Artagnan waited, having no idea when Laurent would return. He had no way of keeping time in the dark cell.

When he finally heard footsteps came down the hallway, he didn't know if it was Laurent or his brute of a brother.

The key turned in the lock, and steps came towards him. Then, he heard a soft "Monsieur?", and released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Laurent knelt down and took the gag out. Then, he began cutting through the thick ropes binding d'Artagnan's wrists and ankles. The Gascon's limbs were so numb that they didn't respond when he tried to move them. Laurent began massaging them to bring back the circulatio. Then, he grabbed d'Artagnan under the shoulders and assisted him to his feet.

He held onto him until d'Artagnan thought he felt able to move himself. Then, they slowly made their way to the cell door, d'Artagnan's legs still not fully functional as yet.

Emerging from the cell, d'Artagnan looked at Laurent, as he had no idea which way to go in the rabbit warren of dimly-lit corridors running past centuries-old cells, their doors ajar hanging from rusty hinges. One of the cells had an iron cage hanging from the ceiling. D'Artagnan didn't even want to ponder the fate of men locked in that contraption.

The air was musty, and they stirred up dust as they walked. The cold was invasive, making their breath come in visible puffs of air. Cobwebs were everywhere.

All d'Artagnan wanted to do was get out of this moldering wreck of a prison, and go back to his brothers.

They moved through the corridors, Laurent seeming to know the layout well. It seemed to go on forever before Laurent turned to him again.

We're almost at the entrance," Laurent whispered. D'Artagnan could hardly believe that in a few more moments, he would once again see daylight and fresh air. Anything but the feeling of being surrounded by death and decay.

Suddenly the sound of horses could be heard galloping in their direction when they neared the exit.

"My brother!" Laurent said in a shaky voice. D'Artagnan could hear the panic in his voice, and the fear in his eyes as he turned to look at him. He was scared to death of his brother.

Turning around, they headed away from the entrance, away from freedom, and back into the dim recesses of the prison, hoping to get out another way.

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Aramis catwalked his way across the garrison roof, careful to tread lightly so he would be unheard.

Slipping out of the window had been easy. No one was around the compound, for which he was very thankful. He just wished he would have had time to grab his long doublet. The night air had a definite chill to it.

He couldn't believe the luck he had when Athos called Porthos from his room. The perfect opportunity handed to him, and he had move swiftly to take advantage of it.

Reaching the back wall of the garrison, he slipped over. Once he reached the ground, he began running. If his brothers caught up with him...

There were still roaming groups of men in the streets, most of them very drunk and singing now that their jobs of tearing down the carnival stalls was over and they had been paid.

He dodged around several groups, then slowed down. Other than the drunken men, there seemed to be no one else on the streets, the merrymaking from the carnival having worn everyone else out. The streets were dark, the moon covered by clouds enhancing the lack of light. The weather getting colder by the minute, causing him to reflect on his own lack of foresight to take off when he was so ill-prepared for the weather.

He had no idea how to get into contact with the men who were after him. Possibly, he could check out a few taverns in the hopes that someone might have a clue he could follow up.

But that problem was all rather swiftly taken out of his hands when a big meaty arm took hold of him and threw him against the side of the building he had been passing.

Aramis had the breath knocked out of him. Then he struggled, because even though his purpose had been to give himself up for d'Artagnan, his soldier's instinct was saying 'fight'. But more hands held him and pushed him harder against the wall. He started to say, "Let my broth..." when a large rag was stuffed into his mouth.

Struggling was impossible, too many men were holding him. They kept him pinned hard against the wall, his arms now painfully drawn up against his back. He was unable to move.

"At long last! You have been a very hard man to catch. Our benefactor will finally have his prize." Pausing, he then said, "I wouldn't want to be you when he carries out the plans he has for you," cackling at his own words. He was positively gloating that the mission they had been hired for was now successful.

Turning to the others, he said, "Prepare him!"


	20. Chapter 20

Athos and Porthos had raced towards the gates when they had found Aramis gone, just as he had known they would do. Speaking to the veteran Musketeer who was on guard there though, they learned that no one had come that way.

Turning their attention back towards his living quarters, they ran their eyes slowly around the area, looking for any other way that he might have escaped.

"The gate is the way in and out," Porthos said in frustration. "Where on earth did he go? Could he be in the kitchen with Serge?"

"He would not have been so secretive in leaving just to go to the kitchen," Athos, said, his sharp eyes still moving, seeking his brother's excape route.

Then, he saw something and moved rapidly towards the window from which he had left, Porthos right behind him, still puzzled.

When he reached the window, Athos reached up to the top of the window frame, and Porthos brow cleared.

"He's a right sly one, our Aramis," he said, realizing from the tiny bit of cloth Athos had just pulled free from where it had snagged on a rough piece of the wood frame that Aramis had gone to the roof instead of to the gate. Just because no one ever did that didn't mean it couldn't be done. They both realized that he knew them so well he would have known they would have naturally gone to check the gates first, giving him the time to get further away from pursuit.

They almost smiled at his subterfuge, almost, before anger and frustration surged to the fore. He had a bit more of a head start on them having delayed them figuring out how he went, and they had no idea which way he would have gone.

Trudging their way up to Treville's private quarters, neither one of them wanted to be the one to have to explain just what had happened, but Athos knew it would fall to him as the Captain's lieutenant. Heaving a heartfelt sigh, he knocked sharply on Treville's door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

D'Artagnan and Laurent eyed each other silently, and then Laurent gave a short nod of his head, and, still with an arm around a slightly unsteady d'Artagnan, turned them around and guided them along a completely different corridor. He seemed to know the twists and turns well, and d'Artagnan hoped that it would lead them to safety, maybe a part of the place their pursuers wouldn't think of.

But he was unprepared for where they ended up. Stopping in front of what seemed like a solid wall, he watched confused as Laurent leaned him against a wall and proceeded to press both hands against the wall in several places.

But his heart sped up as he saw the 'wall' open. He almost couldn't believe his eyes when he beheld the bright sunshine and the streets of Paris before him. They had escaped!

"We did it!" he exclaimed, "How do th..."

Laurent gestured for continued silence, whispering in explanation, "They may already have discovered your escape. And, since I am missing, they will know how. They will be hunting for us. They do not know of this wall, so we have a little time. But we need to move as quickly as possible. Are you up to it?"

D'Artagnan just nodded, feeling very lighthearted just to be in the sunlight and fresh air, to be free after being tied and confined for so long.

"Follow me," was all Laurent said, heading towards the east of the city.

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"I do not need to tell you we need to find him before the men who are after him do, " Treville said, after listening with disbelief to what had just happened. "It may, however, already be too late He has had too much of a head start on us, and these men may have been keeping a watch on the garrison. However, I expect you to do the best you can. Dismissed!"

The curt tone in which he had addressed them told them he was not happy with what had happened or with them, and it also masked his upset over his Musketeer in danger, they thought as they headed back out the door, through the gates and into the streets to attempt to pick up a trail their brother wouldn't have been eager for them to find.

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Aramis struggled fiercely against his captors, all anonymous with their heads covered with dark hoods. But a vicious punch into his lower back left him breathless. They took immediate advantage of the underhanded hit, and shoved him to the ground face first. They worked with the efficiency of soldiers, Aramis thought, as he lay helplessly on the ground. Two men knelt on his shoulders, holding him in place, while another man produced several sets of shackles from a burlap bag. One of the sets was clamped around his waist. One of his arms was stretched out and held in place while a shackle ws clamped tightly around his wrist, then attached to a loop in the side of the chain around his waist. The other wrist was similarly restrained and attached on the opposite side, keeping his arms immobile. His legs were shackled together with a short chain in-between them to allow him to take short steps, after which the men holding him down laughed as the finally let him go.

"On your feet, Musketeers," he heard. He tried to get up, but had a difficult time with his hands tethered the way they were. He heard laughter again, but resolutely ignored it. After a couple more fruitless tries, his captors finally grabbed him roughly around the shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

They surrounded him. It was then that he became aware of something as a couple of the men's cloaks had fallen open.

Their leader saw his eyes widen at what he saw, and said, "Yes, some of us are Red Guards. We no longer need to hide anything, as where you're going you won't ever be in a position to tell anyone." That explained the experienced way they were working together, was Aramis' thought.

The man in front of him pulled a burlap bag over Aramis' head, the marksman's vision suddenly blocked out. "Move it," he snarled, as he gave Aramis a rough shove forward with no warning.

Aramis hesitantly moved forward as best he could, his sudden lack of sight and the way his ankles were chained causing him problems.

Red guards were involved in this? That chain of thought led higher, causing Richelieu's name to come to mind next. He knew the man was unprincipled, but would he go this far with one of the KIng's personal guard? And if he would, where were they taking him now?

Continuing to stumble along the way he was being led, he began to pray, hoping against hope that his brothers could find him, as it seemed that the situation might very well be difficult, if not impossible for him to escape from.

And then, the next thought froze him. D'Artagnan! What will they do to him now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After winding through the streets for what seemed like forever to d'Artagnan, Laurent signalled for them to stop around the back of a tavern that looked familiar to d'Artagnan.

"We are not far from your garrison now," Laurent told him, which explained to d'Artagnan why the tavern looked so familiar to him. "I will leave you now."

"You are coming with me," d'Artagnan replied.

"Whether I wanted to be or not, I was a part of the men who kidnapped and held you prisoner," Laurent said. "They would arrest me and throw me in prison."

"I will vouch for you," d'Artagnan said. "You saved my life."

"I can't..." Laurent started to say.

"You were almost as much a prisoner of that brute of a brother of yours as I was, Laurent. We are going to the garrison together," taking him firmly by the elbow to emphasize his point, then pulling him forward.

A few minutes later, the gates of the garrison loomed before him. Home, he thought, and it felt so good to have reached safety. I need to find the others as quickly as possible, his speed picking up at the thought.

He no sooner came through the gates, still practically dragging along a very quiet Laurent with him, when he heard a booming voice, "D'Artagnan!" seeing both Athos and Porthos moving rapidly towards them.

Reaching him, they both clapped him on the back, saying with a little disbelief, "So they did release you for him."

D'Artagnan froze, hoping he had mistaken what he had just heard. "What?" he asked, in a voice now suddenly anxious with fear.

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other, their faces beginning to mirror d'Artagnan's in expression.

D'Artagnan uneasily asked them, "Where is Aramis?" looking from one to the other of his brothers' faces.

Athos spoke first, his words coming slowly and in a strained voice, "He found a way to get past our defenses this morning. He had been feeling guilty about your being held to get him. We were keeping a close watch...we thought we were keeping a close watch on him," he amended.

Porthos continued, "They've got him. I know it."

D'Artagnan looked stricken as he barely whispered, "He gave himself up for me."

Athos asked, "How did you get free and get here?" giving Laurent a questioning look.

D'Artagnan shook himself out of the daze he had gone into. Drawing Laurent forward, he said, "This is Laurent. He risked his own life to save mine."

They looked at the young man, then back at d'Artagnan with a question in their eyes.

"Laurent was a member of the men who took me..." getting no further as with a low growl, Porthos stalked towards Laurent, who shrunk back at the look on the massive Musketeer's face.

D'Artagnan stepped in front of a very angry Porthos, laying a firm open hand on his chest.

"Porthos, he saved my life."

Porthos' expression didn't change. "After kidnapping you in the first place."

"His brother is one of the gang's leaders, a massive man as big as you. He has been bullied all his life by his brother, who he had been forced to live with when their parents died when he was very young. I saw the way his brother treated him. Laurent was afraid to come here, even though his involvement was forced."

Athos now came forward, hand outstretched to Laurent, saying, "You have our sincere gratitude for what you have done for our brother here."

Lauren shook his hand, though still very nervous with Porthos staring at him.

But then, Porthos extended his hand as he too came forward, and Laurent visibly relaxed.

"We need to go back there, Athos," d'Artagnan said. "It may be where they took Aramis."

"I highly doubt it," Athos replied. "They will not want to stay where witnesses can lead a rescue mission. But they may be in such a hurry to get away that they may leave evidence behind that we can use. We need to get there as soon as we can," turning to head for the stables as he spoke.

The others went to retrieve their weapons. Within minutes, they were headed out the garrison gates, Laurent in their midst.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After being led blindly for what seemed forever, Aramis was stopped and made to stay in place. He could now hear what sounded like a key turning in a lock, and then a very large squeaky door being opened. He was pushed through, hands now latching onto his upper arms and hurrying him along. He had no idea of where he was, but he could feel cold drafts of air around him.

They walked for several minutes, turning down what seemed like long corridors. After another moment, he heard muted voices, but not what they were saying. Then, the bag was pulled from his head.

Blinking furiously in the bright light from their torches held aloft after his enforced stint of darkness, his vision slowly cleared.

He seemed to be in some sort of prison, but much more run-down than any he had ever been inside of, like it hadn't been used for a long time. But his eyes now widened in shocked recognition of the figure who had just come into his line of vision with a dramatic flourish of a crimson-lined black satin cloak, a look of self-satisfaction in his eyes, gloating in his supremacy.

'Richelieu!' he thought, still very much surprised by the man's appearance despite his earlier thoughts of the chain of command of this group of hooded man. It now made perfect sense why they kept themselves incognito. Richelieu was no fool. He could maneuver the King much of the time, but Louis wouldn't have stood for harming his personal guard because he would have figured if they could get to his Musketeers, they might get to him, too.

Richelieu strolled up to where Aramis was being kept in place. Looking him slowly up and down, a smile began to form as he said, "At last! You gave us a rather difficult time laying our hands on you, but you are at our mercy now." Waiting a moment, he said, "Nothing to say, you who have always had such a glib tongue?"

Waiting a moment, he continued. Rather theatrically, he said, "Cat got your tongue? Pausing, he appeared to be highly enjoying himself. Then, "Oh, you cannot respond, can you?" with a chuckle. Then, he looked to one of the men and nodded. The man pulled the now-sodden cloth from Aramis' mouth.

"What is this all about, Richelieu?" Aramis asked without a hint of the respect Richelieu demanded from everyone around him at all times. A hand slapped him without warning, and a voice said, "Keep a civil tongue in your answers, Musketeer!"

Richelieu took his time answering, enjoying the marksman's helplessness. Then, he responded. "You have been a thorn in my side for much too long. Cuckolding me with Adele, humiliating me before the Queen over the matter of that Gallagher's letter. But you went much further, didn't you, Musketeer? Daring to sleep with the Queen and fathering her child? The King would have your head for that, as you well know. But he will never get the chance. You will be punished by myself.

Look around, Musketeer. This prison has been abandoned for over a century. No one now even knows about it's existence- no one but myself and these men here. You will end your pathetic existence inside its walls. It will not be a standard execution, though. You have dared to put yourself on the same level with the First Minister of France. For that you also will pay,along with everything else you've done.

Look well, Musketeer, at your doom," sweeping his cloak as he turned around and pointed.

Aramis now beheld a ladder being lowered down what looked to be a hole in the floor. His whole body froze at the realization of what the Cardinal intended. An *oubliette! Rarely-felt fear rose up in him, invading his whole being as he began to struggle has hard as he could against the hands laid on him and dragging him towards the hole. Blows to his face, his body didn't stop him from struggling, but there were too many of them. He was dragged to the very edge of the oubliette, and looked down into blackness.

 _ **An oubliette is a concealed dungeon with no doors. Its name is based on the French word oublier for "to forget," because people left in the pit were supposed to be forgotten. The only way in or out of an oubliette is a trap door in the ceiling, which is also the only source of light for any of its occupants.**_


	21. Chapter 21

Athos and Porthos, backed up by an order of Treville, had insisted that d'Artagnan get some rest, even though he resisted, wanting to immediately begin helping to search for Aramis. Athos recruited one of the off-duty veterans to sit with him to ensure that he did indeed stay put.

Despite his best intentions, d'Artagnan was asleep within minutes of protesting. Several days of almost no sleep had finally over come him.

Laurent stood and watched their interactions, wishing he had brothers like d'Artagnan had, even though the young man knew they weren't blood brothers. 'But they are more real brothers than mine ever has been', he thought sadly and with the bitterness that couldn't help but have accumulated through the years at his treatment by his blood brother.

Athos and Porthos quietly left the room and sat down at their table to go over what they already knew.

"He disappeared quite rapidly once he went over the garrison wall," Porthos said. "We didn't take that long getting out of the gates to try and catch him. That probably means they had men in the area watching."

"D'Artagnan wanted to go back to where he himself had been kept," Athos said, "but these men seem wily enough not to get caught out that easily. They were probably gone very quickly after d'Artagnan escaped. I really doubt, too, that there are going to be any clues laying around for us to find."

He thought silently for a few minutes, then said, "We seem to have forgotten Laurent. His brother will have realized that we would no doubt question him to find out what he might know. But there may be places his brother used to take him that might help us. Let us find out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis lay in the dirt of the oubliette floor in complete inky darkness. He tried hard not to give in to the despair that was threatening to overwhelm him.

When Richelieu had swept his hand towards the oubliette, it's ladder just visible at the lip of pit, a rare sense of gripping fear came over him.

As a soldier and as a Musketeer, he had heard horrifying stories about them over the years. People were condemned and left in them to a long, lingering death in isolation and utter darkness. Sometimes, their jailors denied them food or water, which must had seemed to them like a mercy because it wouldn't then take as long to succumb to death.

He had fought as fiercely as he was able to avoid this nightmare. But he was hopelessly outnumbered. His head and body were littered with welts and bruises before they had been able to pin him down.

They had dragged him to the ladder where he balked, digging his heels into the dirt. They had finally had to threaten to throw him bodily into the pit if he didn't climb down the ladder on his own, an action that would have resulted in a much quicker death. Aramis, defeated at last, slowly made his way down the ladder, hampered by his chained hands.

Maybe because of his desperate but futile struggle to avoid being put down here, he thought, they had not removed his shackles. Or maybe they had done so deliberately. Now he was confined, not only by the oubliette and darkness, but his hands still were tethered to his belt.

He pushed himself up against the wall to a sitting position, even that made more difficult by his chained hands.

He honestly didn't know if his brothers would be able to find him, or find him in time. Richelieu had said this prison had been abandoned for over a century? No one would even know it existed now. And it had taken his captors quite a while to bring him here, so it had to be on or near the outskirts of the city, or even past the city walls.

He was desperately trying to find some glimmer of hope in the midst of this nightmare he found himself in. But so far, his thoughts added to his growing sense of hopelessness.

No, he shook himself, I will not give up hope. That is exactly what Richelieu is longing for. The man had stood in front of him arrogant and positively gloating. I will not willingly give him anything else to smirk over.

The man was a complete disgrace to the office he held, and was utterly contemptible in the garb of a Cardinal of the Church. It had always been obvious to Aramis that Richelieu had wormed his way into the priesthood for his own nefarious reasons, falsely giving an impression of piety that was as untrue as everything else he project to the King and the public.

But he had never imagined that even Richelieu would go as far as something like this. And if it hadn't occurred to him, it wouldn't have occurred to his brothers either.

Automatically strarting to reach up with his hands to run his fingers through his hair, a reflexive movement he often did without thinking about it when he was upset about something, but he was brought up short when the chains prevented his hands from doing so.

Slumping down further against the cold, damp wall, he let his eyelids fall, but he refused to let go of his tears. He would not give Richelieu the satisfaction, he grimly thought.

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Richelieu met with the men he had hired in the old warden's office, having had one of the men sweep away the dust and cobwebs from the desk before he himself sat down at it.

Looking up at the men, he smiled.

He said, "Well done. You will be amply rewarded for your work. Any of you who would like to earn more gold may work with my Red Guards to keep the prison secure. I doubt if his friends will get an inkling of where he is, but we need to keep guard, just in case."

He dismissed them after four of them had eagerly volunteered for the extra work, figuring it would be easy money as no one knew about this place anyway so there wasn't much to guard against. They walked out the door already envisioning a stretch of drinking and cards.

When they had gone down the corridor far enough to be out of range of any possiblility of Richelieu's hearing, one of them turned to the man who had been their spokesman, saying, "Why didn't you tell him about Laurent leaving? Then, once he finds out the other Musketeer escaped, he will know that we aren't to blame for it. If Laurent remembers the conversations several of us had while he was with us, he may also have heard the name of this prison. Our heads will roll for our part in it."

Jacques, the barrel-chested, middle-aged man who had spoken for all of them, said, "Mattieu, Laurent's brother, wants to get his hands on him. Laurent's days are already numbered. As for telling Richelieu, he will blame us all if he finds out that other Musketeer escaped from us, and that one of us helped him to do it. Then, we'll end up in prison, and probably at the end of a rope. Silence is our best friend right now," looking around as if daring any of them to refute what he had just said.

Satisfied by their expressions that his words had been accepted by the notorious vicious men recruited for this enterprise with him, he turned and led the way to their quarters in another part of the prison.

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For several days, Athos, Porthos and a now-recovered d'Artagnan had visited the worst areas of Paris, places basically run by men such as the type they were looking for. They knew they had a very slim chance of learning anything from the poverty-ridden inhabitants, who were probably terrorized by men who held life very cheaply. They also tried the shopkeepers, but the same men more than likely extorted money from them to 'protect' their shops, and the shopkeepers were afraid of the damage the men would do if they spoke to the Musketeers.

The brothers were beyond frustrated when they returned to the garrison each evening by their lack of any clues as to where Aramis could have been taken. Doubling their frustration was that Laurent seemed to have disappeared after bringing d'Artagnan back and no one knew where he was, so they were unable to talk to him and see if he could remember anything that would be useful to them.

They ate their food as if it had no taste, slumped at the table in dejection, which was very unlike any of them. There was little attempt at conversation, and afterwards, they would head for a few hours of restless sleep, their minds bringing disturbing images to their minds of Aramis alone and in pain.

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Aramis had no idea when one day blended into another. There were no windows, and so far, no one had come back to the room far above him. If they had, not only would he have heard booted feet, but light would have come through the grate.

He had dozed a good deal of the time he had been there, but it wasn't a peaceful rest that brought his mind and body any refreshment.

His waking hours were filled with prayers to the God he loved so much, asking for release from his predicament. He had not received what he had asked for yet, but his faith held strong and he continued his prayers, asking that God's will be done.

He had been given no food or water as yet. His stomach was beginning to growl incessantly, and his mouth was bone dry.

Just as he was beginning to think that he had misjudged Richelieu wanting him to keep him alive and suffering for quite some time, and that he had instead ordered no food or water for him, he heard boots walking on the floor above. A moment later, light shone through the grating followed by a key turning in the lock. Then, heads appeared above the opening.

A small bag and a waterskin were slowly lowered by a rope down into the pit, and one of the men said, "Thought you were going to be starved to death, didn't you?" laughing at his own words.

When the bag and waterskin neared him, Aramis couldn't help himself, even with an audience of men above him enjoying themselves watching him. He grabbed them, immediately wanting to slake his thirst.

But when he attempted to raise the waterskin to his lips, his heart plummeted, as he realized that his hands couldn't raise the waterskin up far enough to reach his mouth! Neither would he be able to eat whatever was in the bag.

"Not so hungry yet?" the mocking voice taunted him again. He refused to even respond to them.

One of the other men came around to the one speaking, and told him, "He can't eat. He can't raise his hands high enough to get the food and water to his mouth."

That threw another light on the situation. The men all knew the Cardinal wanted the Musketeer alive until whenever he deemed he had suffered enough and gave the order to let him die.

They huddled for several moments talking, then the increasingly annoying voice said, "Move back against the wall, Musketeer, and stay there. Your hands will be released from your waist, but if you so much as make a move, well...," indicating the other men, all of whom now held muskets and pistols unerringly aimed at his head. Aramis slowly complied with the order until his back was against the wall.

The man climbed over the pit's rim and began his way down the ladder that had been dropped down. When he reached the dirt floor, he halted and repeated his warning. Obviously, they held a healthy respect for the reputation of the Musketeers' prowess in fighting.

Aramis stook very still, watching as the man approached him. Then the man reached out and grabbed the chain holding his left arm to his waist and unlocked it. He then did the same to his right arm, leaving his arms still shackled with a length of chain in-between, but finally freed from his waist.

Aramis figured this would probably be his one and only chance to attempt to free himself. As the man started to back up again, Aramis sprang forward, pulling the man in-between himself and the guns trained on him.

They struggled, each trying to gain the advantage. But Aramis was at a severe disadvantage from lack of nourishment and his still-chained hands. He tripped over the chain connecting his ankles, and it gave the men up above the target they needed, Aramis' body having now been exposed to the weapons above him.

A shot rang out. He gave a sharp cry and sank to his knees, then to the ground.

 _ **Sorry to leave you with another cliffhanger over the holiday week. I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas!**_


	22. Chapter 22

Aramis gradually came back to consciousness, pain coursing ever stronger through his body the more alert he became. Hazily, his mind not sharp yet, he wondered where he was. 'What happened?' he asked himself.

But once he was alert, he almost wished he wasn't. He was in the oubliette, worse than any nightmare he could conceive of. But what had happened...why is my body in such agonizing pain, his mind questioned.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he tried to move enough to check himself out. But the pain became ever worse when he tried to lift himself. It was coming from his right side. And then, it came back to him.

He had tried a desperate move to escape, tackling the man who had released him from the tethers at his waist, pulling him between himself and the weapons trained on him from the others. But he had not had strength enough to persist, and then the chain connecting his ankles had tripped him up, exposing him to the deadly intent from above.

A bullet had torn into him low oin his right side, sending him crumpling to his knees, then to the dirt floor, blackness having descended before he had even reached it. He had no idea how long he had remained unconscious.

Moving slower than a snail's pace this time, he resolutely moved his hand down his side, fingers feathering ever so lightly in his exploration.

But he wasn't expecting what he found. Bandages were wrapped around his torso. They had taken care of the injury after shooting him? He knew with his hands still shackled together that he wouldn't have enough movement to unwrap the bandages enough to explore any further. He had no way to find out if the bullet was out, or if the wound have been cleaned. If the dirt he he had landed on had penetrated the would, it could very well bring about a deadly infection. He was forced to hope that whoever had done this knew enough about what they were doing to have taken care of it correctly.

He maneuvered himself to his good side, curling in on himself as the pain increased from his exertions.

His thoughts turned to Richelieu again. This latest discovery confirmed the man's intentions. He had suspected that the man wanted him to endure a long time down here in isolation, in the dark, having to depend upon hardened criminals to bring him food and water whenever they deemed appropriate, not another human voice for hours or days. Richelieu may well be hoping to drive me mad, Aramis thought. It would be a real possibility for many who had been put down in one of these oubliettes. Well, he didn't intend for that to happen to him.

But he sobered as the question arose in his mind that if he was down here for a long period of time, could he prevent it from happening to him eventually? It was either that or his death, or both, that Richelieu would desire.

He missed his brothers, the garrison, Anne.

The thought of Anne in the same palace as Richelieu, with what he knew or suspected, of them, froze him for a moment. But he then realized that without himself in the picture, that part of Richelieu's anger would die away. Anne would never let their secret out for fear of her son or daughter being banished-and herself, as well. Richelieu wanted silence of the whole matter, and that way he kept everything precisely as he desired.

His brothers. They must be frantic by now. He knew they felt about him as he felt about them. They would be scouring Paris, overturning every stone.

Suddenly his thoughts turned to d'Artagnan's fate. What had happened to him? Had they released him when he himself had been caught in their net? Had he been killed? Or could he be somewhere within the very walls of this prison he himself was trapped in? D'Artagnan's fate tormented him as he lay in the dirt. He had no way of finding out. It was then that he turned to prayer to ask for the life of his youngest brother, that he be unharmed, and that he was even now with Athos and Porthos in hunting down his captors.

He was beginning to lose consciousness once more, the blackness drawing him, offering him some measure of relief from the agony he was in, and the thoughts that were gnawing away at him.

Just as he was surrendering willingly to it, another thought floated into his mind, and with it, a return to awareness. The water skin, the bag holding the hopeful promise of some form of food.

He was unable to see anything in the inky darkness of his surroundings. Carefully reaching out with his arms, his hands began to pat the dirt within reach of him. Nothing! Had they removed the only food and water he had been given since he had been here? Dragging himself a little further forward, he tried again. Nothing!

His dry mouth and growling stomach made their reappearance once more, having been pushed into the background by the effects of the wound he had received. Determination drove him on, and finally he was rewarded when he felt burlap under his fingers. A moment later, his questing fingers found the water skin.

He was finally able to slake his thirst, relieving his dry tongue. The waterskin was less than half full, but right now, it seemed like a river to him in his need.

Next, he pulled the small bag to himself, opening it only to find a small heel of stale bread. But, as with the water, it was food no matter what the condition, and he consumed it probably much too fast. He knew it would do little to quell his starving stomach, but at least it was something.

Finished, his injured body reasserted itself with a vengeance, lightning stabs of white-hot pain rippling up his right side from his activities.

Curling up into himself once again, something he often did when injured, he lay as still as he could, hoping against hope that he could calm the storm of spasms and the tremors down, missing the care of his brothers even more as he endured the effects of the wound in his isolation.

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With every day that passed, d'Artagnan's guilt level raised. He kept thinking to himself 'if I had paid more attention to my surroundings that night, they might not have been able to kidnap me, and wouldn't have had any leverage to use against Aramis. The thoughts ran through his head in an endless cycle, to the point that he was often distracted from what was going on around him, something that almost never normally happened to the Gascon.

One afternoon after seeing his lack of attention while they were walking through the busy market day stalls, Athos called a halt and indicated to the others to follow him, leading them to the side of a bakery building, where he stopped and turned towards d'Artagnan, who looked puzzled by the diversion.

"D'Artagnan, you are not to blame for what has happened to Aramis," he began, unerringly knowing exactly what was wrong with his brother. But d'Artagnan immediately and strenuously disagreed with him.

"How can you say that, Athos?" he countered. "It was my lack of alertness that got me taken. Holding me hostage allowed them to use me to force Aramis to come to them. How is that not my fault?"

"It could just as easily have been one of us that they took, d'Artagnan," Athos patiently explained. "They were not exclusively looking for you that night. Any one of use would have served their purpose. You know this."

"Neither of you would have allowed yourselves to be distracted as I was."

"Neither one of us finds ourselves in love," Porthos quietly interjected, sympathy for d'Artagnan clearly written on his face, as it was now on Athos, as well. The former Comte de la Fere normally never visually gave away his feelings, but with his brothers it was different. He sometimes allowed his emotions to be revealed, as he did now.

D'Artagnan had pinkened slightly at the mention of his feelings for Madame Bonacieux. But then, what he considered his fault surfaced again. "I shouldn't have been daydreaming. I'm a Musketeer. I should have known better. To be taken like a green cadet. I am far more highly trained than that," he said bitterly.

"Someday, we will have to discuss our mistakes with you, d'Artagnan," Porthos told him. "Believe it or not, we do have them, as does Aramis," seeing, though, the Gascon's face fall when the marksman's name was uttered.

"It was not your fault, d'Artagnan," Athos reiterated. "And we will find h..." stopping suddenly as d'Artagnan's attention was diverted to something he was staring at past the swordsman's shoulder.

"D'Artagnan!" he said sharply, then heard what d'Artagnan said before taking off, racing down the street.

"Laurent!" he had said, following in the direction the Gascon had just taken, Porthos on his heels.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The tawny-haired young man had led then a merry chase but finally was halted by a street which abruptly came to a dead end. Realizing he had nowhere to go, he resolutely turned around and faced his pursuers.

"Why did you leave?" d'Artagnan demanded.

"I..I didn't want to hang," he said hanging his head in defeat.

"We told you that was not going to happen, Laurent," Athos quietly reassured him yet again.

"You can't know that for sure," Laurent almost whispered.

"Treville has already presented your side to the King. He said you were bullied by your brother and were afraid of defying him, and yet you still helped Aramis to escape. He now thinks you are a hero, and wants to meet you. You have nothing to fear, Laurent," Athos told the dumbfounded young man, who was now standing quietly at the turn of events.

"Will you come back to the garrison and help us, Laurent?" d'Artagnan asked.

Laurent was very quiet for a moment, still not quite believing he wasn't going to be punished for anything. Then, he nodded, looking each one of them in the eye. "Yes," he finally said, "I will be happy to do anything you need," before being interrupted by a fierce hug from d'Artagnan.

Together, they turned and began their way back to the garrison, the Musketeers hoping that maybe Laurent may know something that could point them in the right direction. Something that could help them to find Aramis before it was too late, none of them voicing the fear inside of them that it might already be.

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Aramis had no way of knowing how long a time he lay huddled on the floor, keeping as still as possible to prevent the pain from getting worse than it already was. It could have been hours or days. He alternated between consciousness and blackness, his world a solitary black void.

It was in one of his lucid moments that he saw light again coming through the overhead grate. The booted feet came next. Then once again, he heard a key unlocking the grate. The unaccustomed light hurt his eyes after having been in darkness so long. He lifted his shackled hands to cover them.

The leader of his hired tormentors stuck his head over the edge of the pit, calling to him, "I can't see you. Hiding won't help you," mocking his being confined in darkness.

Aramis just let him talk. He couldn't do anything about it anyway.

"You've had a few days rest. Figured you might be hungry again. We brought the same feast as last time."

The same water skin and bag were again lowered into the pit. Aramis, still shading his eyes, could hear movements but didn't move, deciding to wait until they had left so as not to provoke any more ridicule.

"I guess the same cat came back and got your tongue again. Well, you better pay attention now. You have a visitor."

This froze Aramis. Someone else was here to see him? Who wanted to see him down here?

The as yet anonymous man moved back from his position, giving deferential attention to whoever had come. Aramis, still protecting his eyes, had no idea for sure who was there, but only one name came to mind. No one else, as far as he knew, had any awareness of his presence in this prison.

Richelieu! At the same time that he said his name in silence, the man appeared over the rim, his lips curled up at the corners.

"Our troublesome Musketeer!"

"Come to gloat?" Aramis, hearing the arrogant voice, daringly asked him, his voice raspy from disuse.

"Still alive yet, my dear Aramis? I would be very careful how you address me. It may mean the difference between your continued existence, or your pathetic and untimely death. Shall we talk?"


	23. Chapter 23

_**I am trying to finish the chapter in the midst of dealing with a major auto repair and several other things. I finished the first piece of it, and decided to post this part, and hopefully the rest of the chapter tomorrow. I hope you enjoy, and if you have a few moments, let me know!**_

Aramis finally took his hands away from his eyes as they became more accustomed to the light, squinting up at Richelieu's red-clad figure looking down at him.

Speaking in a voice raspy with disuse, he struggled to make himself heard as he said, "Do you honestly think you are going to get away with this?" deliberately leaving out Richelieu's title, and knowing full well that the man was vain enough to notice and be upset about it. "My brothers will find me, even if it is after my death. They will not stop until they uncover the trail that will lead back to you. Your position as Minister does not give you leave to do this. Your arrogance and conceit..." not being able to continue when an irate Richelieu roared back at him.

"Silence, or I will have you gagged!" he responded angrily. "I can do this and much more, and no one will question my authority. You, my reprobate Musketeer, are living on borrowed time. You will feel my wrath for your words, never doubt that. You will be punished daily from this time forward in a manner I will proscribe. Maybe it will curb that unruly tongue of yours," whirling around dramatically and slamming shut the gate.

Richelieu spoke to the leader of his men, outlining what he wanted done before leaving to return to the palace.

Once he had left, a ladder was dropped down ino the pit, and the mocking voice of the men's leader spoke once again. "You really shouldn't have angered him. We have our orders." Aramis heard the clinking of metal as the man moved.

Reaching the bottom of the ladder, he looked down at Aramis, then indicated the rim of the pit, which was again ringed with weapons pointed at him.

When the man lifted his arm up into the air, Aramis beheld a length of chain dangling from it. The man reached down and grabbed Aramis' shackled hands and attached the chain he held to the chain linking his prisoner's hands together. He them walked over to the wall and locked the other end to an iron ring on the wall.

"We are to carry out our orders once each day. This will keep you from attempting the move you tried before. He does not want you killed," he paused for a moment, "yet." But he desires you to be punished for lack of respect."

Before Aramis had an inkling of what the man was going to do, a booted foot hit him solidly in the stomach. As he gasped from the pain of the unexpected attack, the man laughed and began climbing back up the ladder.

As he watched, his breath coming in gasps, the grate was closed and locked. The light disappeared, and he was alone once again. Curling up as much as he could into a fetal position, he fought against the despair gradually growing stronger in him.

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Back once more in the garrison, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan sat down with Laurent. They began asking him questions. He was now completely open to answering whatever he was asked.

As anxious as they were to see if he might have any information they could use to help them to find their missing brother, they knew they needed to go slowly. They would be dredging up old and painful memories of the only family left to him in the word, of his life with a brother who had mercilessly bullied him, and it would not be easy for him to relive them.

"My brother never really earned wages honestly," he said in answer to a question about how they paid for a place to live and the food they ate. "He would be around the house during the day, drinking. At night, he would go out and meet some men down the street. I peeked through the window once and saw five or six of them meeting up with him. He wouldn't come back until early in the morning, just after dawn. But he almost always had coins jingling in his pocket. I asked him once where he went every night, but he got upset and hit me so hard I landed against the wall, so I didn't dare ever ask him anything again. He has always had a very bad temper. I heard him once talking to someone just outside the door before he came in. He probably thought I was still asleep. They were talking about some man they had beaten up."

The Musketeers looked at each other, their thoughts when hearing of the character of Laurent's brother were immediately of Aramis helpless in the hands of such a man. He was very clever with his words, but would they anger the man, cause the same kind of violent reaction? And what of the rest of the men holding him now? Were they of the same ilk? They also still had no idea of who had hired them, or the reason behind taking him.

Laurent was speaking again. "I just tried to avoid him as much as possible, but we lived in a one-room building, so it was difficult. I did whatever he told me to do, cooking, cleaning, errands. I didn't question anything he told me to do. I was afraid of him. He even..."stopping at the memory of something else.

D'Artagnan gently asked him, "What else did your brother do, Laurent? Take your time."

Laurent slowly said, "He...My father told him once...he told him he was no good. He said Mattieu should ...get out. My brother...he ...hit my father...so hard. His head hit the wall. He just crumpled up...down the wall. He ...just laid there," the tears were falling now, the memories tearing him apart. But he continued. "My mother...she...she was never the same again. One day, I came back...from doing an errand. She...she was...laying on the floor."And then, he couldn't go on any more, the sobs overwhelming him.

D'Artagnan put an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him against his own, letting him take his time getting his emotions under control again. He looked up at Athos and Porthos, all three of them's eyes reflecting their unspoken thoughts again of Aramis helpless in the hands of such men. Each one of them was suppressing the thought that that they might not see their brother again.


	24. Chapter 24

As sad as his story was, Athos finally, on the second day of questions,.asked a different type of question. '"Laurent, we need to direct the questions differently now. We are becoming increasingly concerned at our brother's continued disappearance. Did your brother have places he liked to go-maybe out of the way places?"  
Laurent seemed stumped by the question, his brows coming together as he tried to figure out how to answer it.  
Athos prompted him, adding to his question. "Maybe places where not people would be?"  
Laurent thought about it a bit. All three Musketeers souch wanted to hurry him, but knew they needed to give him the time to think. They waited as patiently as they could. It seemed to take forever, but then Laurent began speaking. "He loved old jails, old prisons. I can't tell you how many of them he dragged me off to, walking through them, telling me what happened inside of them."  
The Musketeers collectively thought what a sick man Laurent had for a brother, dragging an impressionable little boy through cold, dark prisons, and what he more than likely shared of the men incarcerated there: locked up in small cells, brutalized by the guards, many, if not most of them, for the rest of their lives. Not a picture anyone should paint for their little brother.  
It was Athos who first had the thought that maybe, just maybe they might be on to something.  
"Could you make us a list of the places you used to visit, Laurent? Especially the prisons that are no longer used?" Porthos and d'Artagman's eyes turned abruptly off Laurent's face towards Athos as he said this, as comprehension and barely concealed hope began to blossom on their faces.  
Laurent said, "It might take me a while. There were quite a few over the years. But yes, I will do it."  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxt The man who so delighted in mocking Aramis in the prison stood in front of Richelieu, lisyening to him rant. "He is an impudent young man! How dare he even try to defy me when he is at my mercy! He shows no respect at all. None! You will continue with his punishment. Every day, once a day-and make clear to him that I deserve the respect and honor of my offices, both as First Minister and as a Cardinal. The man before him knew little about religion, but the little he did know was how much respect a Cardinal of the Church was given by his observances of people in the streets when one of them's carriages drove by. But the man was no fool, either. Cardinal Richelieu didn't behave as any other Cardinal or Bishop he had ever seen. Richelieu followed his own rules, not anyone else's, even God's.  
But the man also didn't care a whit whether the man was devout or a scoundrel. Sll he was interested in was the gold promised to he and his mrn when the job was done. He would follow the man's orders to the letter. It wouldn't be the first time he had practiced brutality against someone, including his own brother, and it wouldn't be the last. Killing was something else he had no qualms about. If Richelieu changed his mind and ordered the Musketeer's death, he would do it without batting an eye. He and his conscience hadn't seen eye to eye in years. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Aramis consciousness filtered in and out for quite some time. The kick in his stomach had renewed the agony in his side, the boot having caught the edge of it. His hands linked by the chain to the ring in the wall forced him to have to face the wall when he was lying down, the chain not long enough to do it in the other direction. But his was a troubled sleep, troubled by nightmares and by his wound, it was the reason he was fading in and out.  
He now knew without any doubt that unless his brothers were able to find him, he would die here in this black pit, alone and unable to even say goodbye to his friends, his brothers. He had always thought he would die in one of his brothers' arms, either on a battlefield, if they were at war, or on a mission. Anne. Her name he whispered aloud. He had thought, in the back of his mind, that he might never know love again after Isabelle. Now, he knew an even stronger love than Isabelle. But she was list to him now. His heart ached at the image in his head of Anne hearing the news of his death. He hoped the bearer of the news did not go into into detail about how it had happened. He wanted her to at least be spared that pain His child, boy or girl it mattered not. He would love the babe with all his heart either way. But now, it seemed,.he was never to know. He would never see his child He again had no conception of time. All he had were his thoughts and prayer. He turned again to the God he loved so much, finding some solace in his dark world of pain. 


	25. Chapter 25

_**First, I would like to apologize to everyone who read Chapter 24. I don't know what happened after I posted it in fanfiction, but I had formatted it as I normally do beforehand. I looked it oer after I published, and it was fine. Then, something happened at the other end. Thank you so much for your patience in reading it!**_

Aramis came back to awareness, finding that once more the wound in his side had been tended. It had started to bleed from the blow to his torso earlier, but obviously, Richelieu didn't want him to die more quickly from loss of blood or infection. He still wanted things prolonged.

Still, the gang leader continued to come back. Every time he did, the marksman was hit somewhere-just once each time, but the blows were hard and savage in their intensity. Twice, the blows to his torso had felt like something had given way-or broken.

The man would move slowly down the ladder, taking his time, hoping to work on Aramis' mind to create further torment of what would happen. Slowly he would stalk across the dirt floor of the pit towards him. The chain ocnnecting Aramis with the wall gave him a little room to move, but he didn't try, as the man would only laugh at his attempts to hold off the blow for a moment or two. He was trapped, and the man who came to attack him enjoyed that fact. He was at the man's complete mercy.

He had hit Aramis once in the head and once in the lower back, but he seemed to delight on most of his visits in aiming his boot into the marksman's stomach. He seemed to enjoy the gasp of pain that Aramis wasn't any longer able to hold back when the booted foot connected. Then, he would stand over his victim for a few moments, probably to make Aramis wonder if this time it was going to continue past the single blow.

Aramis, when he was alone, sometimes drifted in and out of consciousness, but still had begun to pick up a pattern. The length of time in between the man's visits made the marksman think that he was coming once a day. He tried to remember how many times so far, and realized that if he was right, they had been going on for a week. He had no conception, though, of how long he had been imprisoned before the visits.

He was beginning to be more thankful, though, that they had left his shirt and breeches on as the air had become much cooler. Since he had been taken at the very end of summer, autumn was now making its presence felt. How long have I been buried here, he asked himself? Will I ever be found? Will I go mad? Or will I never wake up again on one of my lapses of consciousness?

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Laurent had at last presented Athos with a list of places his brother had taken him, beginning when he was only seven years old. What kind of a sick mind does that to a young boy, Athos asked himself, and then thought of Aramis helpless in the man's power. Shaking himself, he deliberately broke his train of thought, the pain of it tearing him apart.

Starting down the list, which was actually quite long, he first scratched out any buildings that he knew had since been destroyed. Next, he eliminated the ones he had heard about that had been bought and converted to other purposes by merchants and tradesmen.

Then, calling in Porthos and d'Artagnan, Treville being in attendance on the king at the palace, the three of them went through the list again, Athos hoping one of his brothers might have some knowledge unknown to himself that could shorten the list further.

"This one was blown up a long time ago," Porthos said, indicating one of the names at the beginning of the list. "I remember the men talking about it in the Court."

"It was probably long before I left Pinon to come to Paris," Athos said, drawing a line through the place,"so I would not have recognized the name."

D'Artagnan had no information to whittle it down further, having been in Paris the shortest length of time of the brothers.

"There are still over a dozen places," Athos said somewhat dejectedly in spite of himself. "D'Artagnan, go and make inquiries of some of the merchants tomorrow morning. Discreetly. We do not know what connections these men have in Paris. Nor do we know who they are working for. Porthos, you and I will be visiting the palace. Not only do we need to use the same cautions there, but we also do not want Louis or Richelieu aware of what we are doing. We do not need Louis' curiosity right now, and we know how meddling and suspicious Richelieu can be. Let us hope we discover something useful to aid us in finding our brother."

Heading off to the kitchen, none of them had the stomach for more than a few bites, their systems too worked up for food to settle in them. None of them slept well that night either, hoping against hope that they might find the information they desperately needed the next day.

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One day, not long after one of his painful visits, the light above appeared again. The boots walked across to the grate, and Aramis heard it being unlocked. As Aramis laid a hand over his eyes to protect them, he thought 'Again! He was just here!'

The man's head poked itself over the side, and looking down at Aramis, he said, "Almost forgot. Can't have you starving, now can we?" beginning to lower the waterskin and bag down.

Since Aramis had his eyes shielded, he didn't notice what the man had done until he heard the grate closed and locked, and the boots walking away. His eyes were more accustomed to the dark than the light now, but even so, it took a moment before he saw the waterskin and bag on the ground-on the other side of the pit. Aramis tried so hard, but he just couldn't reach them. He was so hungry and thirsty, and even though he wasn't allowed very much, at least it was something. But to do this-the cruelty was unbelievable. The sustenance was in plain sight, but it might as well have been half a world away from him.

Despair ate at him. He had dealt with many bad and cruel people in his years as a Musketeer, but this man seemed to find such great enjoyment in what he did. Aramis had never understood what made some minds different than others. Parents. Their childhoods. Something they had gone through in their line of work. A friend who exerted an influence over them that turned their minds. Tragedy.

All he knew right now was that without that bit of food and especially the water, his life was going to end soon. Someone could go without food for quite some time, although they would suffer their body's protests at the lack of it. But a man could only go three days without water in most cases. Considering the long sretches between being given them, he thought they might be deliberately waiting for almost those three days each time. He was very thirsty, his mouth dry as a bone.

Had Richelieu changed his plans? Was he now to die sooner of starvation and dehydration instead? He had no idea.

Curling up again, he let the encroaching darkness take away his thoughts, his pains, his fears.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis' brothers spent the whole day seeking out information about the buildings on Laurent's list. They were more disheartened than ever. Aside from crossing two more places off the list, it still left ten that they knew nothing about.

Trudging back through the garrison gates, their steps were far from the eager, light feet of the morning when they had set out hopeful that they would learn something useful at last. As evening faded into night with their return, they had nothing to show for their efforts.

Not even hungry, they each slowly made their weary ways to their rooms, not sure what new idea they could try in the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The sound of the lock opening and the grate being raised woke Aramis, who no sooner opened his eyes than had to squeeze them shut and shade them from the light again.

The mocking voice called down to him, "Well, would you look at that. I seem to have miscalculated where I put your food and water."

Laughing, he lowered the same two items down again, this time practically dropping them onto Aramis' legs. Cutting the rope, as he did each time, he gave Aramis one more long look before backing away, slamming and locking the grate. The light was extinguished, and Aramis heard him leave.

He made himself wait until he had no audience before grabbing the waterskin, finishing the half-full skin in gulps. He tore into the heel of bread almost as quickly.

Afterwards, he took a deep breath before thinking to himself, 'Thank God!' He had been trying to prepare himself to die, and at the same time asking the God he loved so much for the strength to endure either death or the continued existence he found himself in.

He began to pray again that his brothers would find a way to locate him-before it was too late.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Next morning, Aramis' brothers dragged themselves out of bed, meeting at their table to force some breakfast down. They looked at each other, seeing the same anxiety and sadness in the others' eyes that they felt themselves.

Athos was just about to ask if Porthos and d'Artagnan had any ideas when Laurent came running across the compound, shouting their names to get their attention.

All three men leaped to their feet, almost afraid to hope that he had good news.

He couldn't wait to tell them, "I remembered the name of a prison I didn't write down on my list. My brother took me there when I was only eight."

It was another name for their list, but they were already thinking that maybe this might be the one. No one had known any of the other places? Was this a sign?

And then Laurent added, "I remember my brother telling me at the time, "if I ever needed to hide out somewhere, no one would ever find me here," and he was laughing almost gleefully as he said it,when the place was giving me the chills as I was looking around me . He always liked the strangest things."

"It is in Paris or outside, Laurent?"

"Outside. What's left of it is mostly underground. Point de Non Retour*, he said it's name was. He said he would never want to be locked up there, but if someone needed locking up, he would gladly throw him in there."

Then, he apologized to them. "I think I blocked the memory out of my mind. It was so horrible having to hear my own brother wishing that on someone."

Athos and his brothers looked at each other, the dawn of hope in their eyes growing stronger with Laurent's words.

 _ ***Point de Non Retour-Point of No Return.**_


	26. Chapter 26

Laurent kept wracking his brain for any tidbit of memory that could possibly assist the Musketeers he sat at the table with, and remembered that that he and his brother had walked almost in a straight line from the rundown house where they lived in Paris to the city gates.

When he described what he remembered of the gates, all three Musketeers recognized it as one they sometimes used when heading out of Paris on a mission to the south, although most of the time, they used the one slightly to the east of it, as it was closer to the garrison. They rarely strayed from the road on that route, so they wouldn't have come upon any ruins. But they figured it had to be set away from well-travelled roads because of the risk of escaped prisoners to the people who had frequented the road on business, and because in the event of such a happening, they would have been easier to spot by their pursuers. They were guessing, of course, but the other ancient prisons they were aware of had used the same type of precautions by their builders.

Laurent didn't remember much about the trek outside the city, though, but Athos figured that four men on horseback could explore the area fairly quickly, including Laurent in the four.

The prison, besides being mostly underground, probably had acquired quite a bit of underbrush, weeds, etc. in its long period of disuse. It wouldn't be easy to spot. They wondered if possibly someone in the area in which it was located had dropped the information during an evening drinking at a Parisian tavern, and with Mattieu's fascination with prisons, his curiosity had been peaked at hearing about it. Once he had seen it, his memory brought him back to use it when he needed somewhere to take Aramis.

Athos first obtained permission from Treville before they readied the horses and prepared provisions for a 2-3 day stay outside the walls. They thought it would be more helpful and quicker to locate by staying in the area. Time was also of the essence. Aramis had been missing quite a while now. They had no idea what condition he would be in when they found him (not voicing the unspoken fear of themall that it could very well be too late by the time they found him.

When everything was ready, they took off with a thunder of hooves out of the garrison gates, bearing extra weapons to take out the villains when they had located the prison.

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It had been some time since his tormentor had visited him. Aramis wondered, in one of his lucid moments, if the amount and length of abuse to be given him had been specifically laid out by Richelieu, or had his tormentor just tired of what he may have considered a game. Either way, he was grateful for its termination, even though the pain from what he had been dealt had added to the lightning bolts of agony that rippled through his body at various intervals, the result of the last vicious kick that had landed in the center of the wound in his side. It came most often when he attempted to shift positions. It also bled when he moved , causing him to limit his movements.

He was close to freezing now in his underground prison. His doublet had been taken off of him when his punishments had begun. The shirt and breeches weren't nearly enough to ward off the chill, so he pressed himself against the wall his hands were tethered to in an attempt to shelter his body a little, continuing to curl up from the pain he was in. His throat was sore now, and a cough that was developing, which only exascerbated the wound again.

He wondered dully how long he had been there. Had his brothers been forced to give up their searching and resume their duties, being told he weas a lost cause? It would suit Richelieu perfectly to rein them in, and Louis usually followed his advice. No matter how much his brothers might beg to continue the search, Treville's hands would be tied if the two of them called a halt to it.

The shackles chafed against the skin of his wrists when he made any movements. Generally fastidious in his appearance, he knew he was very dirty from lying on the floor continually, and his hair was stringy, falling down in his face. Dirt was under his fingernails from having to scrabble in the dirt whenever he had a cramp and had to move a little. His voice was scratchy from disuse. He had been in the dark for so long now that he wondered if his eyes would be permanently impaired.

He wondered if his body and his mind would start to struggle to go on. He didn't want to die, but he would lose his mind if he went on in this living death much longer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His brothers and Lauren had spent the whole day and long into the evening combing the countryside for any hint of a building other than the occasional farm, stopping as short a time as possible to eat a midday meal.

They had seen a surprising number of deserted remnants of buildings, but almost all were either abandoned farmhouses, barns or other outbuildings, and an occasional manor house. This was a somewhat secluded area, d'Artagnan telling them the ground wasn't the best for farming, but that hadn't stopped farmers in other areas from working the land as best they could. They wondered what had happened in this valley which was not all that far from Paris to cause the sparse population, and why it wouldn't be of more general knowledge among the people of the city.

They had also seen very few people, mostly a farmer here or there, busily at work and not paying much attention to the four riders.

Resuming their search once more, they again fanned out to cover more ground as they had done in the morning. About an hour later, d'Artagnan gave an exuberant shout over something he had found. They all hurriedly joined him to see a very old, crumbling foundation of a building, only to have Laurent deflate their excitment almost immediately.

"It doesn't resemble the building I have in my memory," he told them, clearly wishing that it had, for their sakes. "The stone used in this building is a reddish-brown, but the stone I remember was greyish. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the color before," hating to have to give them the bad news.

"You do not need to apologize for anything, Laurent," Athos told him. "If it was not for those memories of yours, we would have been at a dead end as to where to look, or what the building might look like. We will continue as long as we have enough light left to see, gentlemen."

They again fanned out, eyes peeled for any hint of the remnants of a grey building, their gazes ever downwards towards the ground, lest underbrush and weeds block them from finding it as they rode by.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis heard them coming again, shielding his eyes before the blinding light could hit them. They were unlocking the grate, then lifting it.

"Well, look, he's still among us," the same man said with a laugh, "well, sort of," laughing still harder.

"Move aside, Mattieu," Richelieu's voice said, and Aramis wondered what he wanted this time.

Poking his head over the rim of the pit, Richelieu stared down at him. Aramis couldn't see what he was doing, he just knew it made his skin crawl being at the man's mercy. The silence stretched a little longer, Richelieu obviously enjoying his power over the Musketeer he detested.

Then, he finally spoke. "You do not look like you are doing very well, Aramis. Poetic justice, I would say. You are finally paying for the arrogance you constantly exhibited to me. Not so confident now, are we?"

Aramis just let him talk, giving him silence in return. Richelieu had probably hoped to goad him into saying something for which he could mete out another series of 'punishments', but Aramis wasn't playing his games for him.

"Just how long do you think it will take for you to die-or go mad? Hmmm?" Still the silence.

Richelieu sighed very dramatically before saying, "At least I can take comfort knowing you will not be a thorn in my side for very much longer, by the looks of you. Pity I couldn't do it to all four of you, but it would have been too obvious-for now." Aramis' breath had hitched at the implied threat to his brothers.

"You, however, are the worst of the bunch. You will not be for much longer, though. Hungry? Thirsty? Hmmm?" then turned and vacated the space, his footsteps moving across the room above as he left.

"I don't think he likes you very much, does he?"

He tried to ignore Richelieu's comments, and now the head man's, obviously made to get under his skin. Then, he heard the bread and wine beng lowered down to him again, and the snick as the knife cut the rope used.

"Maybe we will bring these to you again in a few days-if you still exist by then. You never know what can happen down there," and as his chilling words died away, there was silence as the grate was closed and locked, the light extinguished, and he heard the receding footsteps.

Do I look like I am at death's door? he asked himself. Are there records of how long men last down here? Or have they revised their plans for me?

He wished his mind would stop asking questions, questions he had no answers for. All he was able to do was lie there in the darkness for whatever would happen.

Wearily, he stretched himself to reach the bread and water they had left, only to find that his rations, meager as they had been, had been cut in half.

As strong a man as he was, he nearly wept in every-increasing despair. What they had been giving him was not enough for a child, let alone a fully-grown man. His stomach rumbled nearly endlessly, and his tongue and throat were bone dry. How could he survive for much longer on this?

Mattieu, he suddenly realized that Richelieu had said. At last he knew one of the henchmen's names, not that it would do him any good down here. With the name of one of his Lord's disciples, he chose to practice evil instead. How did he and the others become the villains that they had? His exhausted mind told him he might well never know in this life.

He turned once more to his only source of solace, praying to be delivered from this waking nightmare he was trapped.

A short while later, the encroaching darkness claimed him, and he once more surrendered to it. A lone tear finished its way down his cheek, leaving its trail through the dust and dirt that had accumulated there.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The Musketeers finally called a halt to their search well into the dark of the night. They were all despondent at the fruitless result of hours combing the land. They had left with such high hopes, confident in thinking they would at last see their brother that day, only to have those hopes dashed.

Starting a fire and setting up camp around it, they were mostly quiet as they ate a bit of bread, an apple, and a little wine, turning in moments after finishing, only for the Musketeers to find themselves restless and awake half the night.

Morning came with a renewed determination as they broke camp. Mounting up, they set out on the new day's search.

It was once again d'Artagnan who began waving his arms and calling to them late in the morning.

When they had joined him, looking urgently around to see what he had found, he pointed off to the left. Not seeing anything, they started to urge their horses forward, but d'Artagnan quickly but quietly stopped them.

Frowns of confusion on their faces, they gathered around him and looked intently at him with questions in their eyes.

"A man with a musket just disappeared there," he said very quietly. "I had just caught sight of a jumble of grey stone when I saw him. He's obviously guarding the place. We need to be very quiet and careful that we don't alert him to our presence."

"D'Artagnan is correct," Athos said. "Not only do we not know how many men are inside, but we do not want to risk them harming Aramis. We do not know where in there he might be yet."

Leading their horses a distance away so they wouldn't attract attention, they then began to move in a crouch and silently towards the point d'Artagnan had seen the ruins. They had barely gone any distance when Athos held up a hand to stop.

He pointed into the distance, and they could just make out a large, ornate carriage moving at a good pace, with a large detail of riders accompanying it. It was much too far away to identify *****. Athos said, "That may be the unknown figure who is orchestrating and financing this whole affair. Whoever he is and however much I would like to apprehend him, the carriage is too far away now to go after and apprehend without a fight, giving ourselves away to the men inside the building and endangering Aramis further. His day is coming. Let us go rescue our brother."

 _ ***Often, people of rank had a family crest emblazoned on the sides of their carriages.**_

 _ **I may have another small chapter ready mid-week, if I find the time to write.**_


	27. Chapter 27

___**Instead of one long chapter, this week's will consist of this rather short chapter, with another longer one probably on Monday morning. My schedule has been a little unsettled this week and probably the next. Enjoy!**_

The Musketeers made their way stealthily towards the site d'Artagnan had discovered, not seeing anyone else emerge from the building.

At last reaching an opening that looked as if it might have been the entrance to the abandoned prison in what was left of a grey-stoned wall, Athos and d'Artagnan stood with their backs to the wall on the opening's right side, while Porthos assumed the same position on its left.

Listening for several moments to see if they were able to detect any movement within, they silently signaled all clear to each other. D'Artagnan slowly stepped away from the wall and around the crumbling door frame, pistol and sword drawn, Athos and Porthos right behind him.

They seem to be in what looked like the former main entranceway to the prison, probably where new prisoners were received into custody from whoever had charge of bringing them there. The grey walls were green-tinged, piles of rubble lying about in its desolated condition. The remains of another door stood opposite them, leading to the interior.

Cautiously crossing to the door, Porthos went first, poking his head around first to see if the coast was clear. It led to an equally dilapidated staircase, the bottom of it shrouded in darkness. Since almost all of the remains of the old prison was underground, this might be the only way to access it.

Having grabbed a lantern each from a pile of them piled haphazardly against one wall of the entranceway, they now lit them and proceeded cautiously and as silently as possible down the stairs, not knowing if booted feet would be heard on the lower level.

There was a wide hallway shrouded in darkness in front of them as they got to the ground again. Making their way down the hallway, they passed darkened rooms lining both sides of the corridor, full of cobwebs and mice, that skittered away across the floor at the sound of their footsteps.

At the end of the hallway, two branches led in opposite directions. Porthos silently made hand signals, asking if they should split up and check them out, to which Athos shook his head, indicating they needed to stay together.

Since there were cells in the hallway on the right, Athos opted to check them out first. Taking the lead, he moved slowly down the corridor, which was narrower than the previous one. Cell after cell lined the long darkened hallway, all with doors ajar, empty inside.

Hoping when they found the cells that it was going to be easier than they had thought to find Aramis, they each swallowed their disappointment and returned to the junction of the hallways, taking the remaining unexplored one now.

This corridor had no cells, just darkened like the main one near the entrance. But Athos froze a couple of steps in, seeing light under the door at the end, which was also the only one closed.

Moving more slowly and with extreme caution, they approached the door, and as they got closer they heard voices, muffled by the closed door. Flattening themselves as they had at the entrance, they listened.

"Won't be much longer now. Held out longer than we figured. But no one comes out of that alive," and several men agreed, and then laughed at the comments. He had no idea how incensed the words had just made three Musketeers.

As one, they burst through the door, firing as they came.

There were six men lounging at their ease around an ancient, rickety table. When they were invaded, they flew out of their chairs, reaching for their weapons, the chairs overturning, cards scattering to the floor, drinks spattering everything they touched when they fell.

All three pistols found their marks, leaving two men dead and sprawled on the floor, one wounded but still on his feet, the other four now armed and defending themselves against the furious Musketeers.

The fight was over in a few minutes, their opponents no match for three highly trained Musketeers, no matter how many underhanded tricks they tried. Two of the four were dead, one by Athos' sword and the other by d'Artagnan's, and two were wounded.

But no matter how much they were questioned, no matter how many times Porthos threatened to take them apart, their lips remained sealed as to where Aramis was.

Downcast at receiving no answers to help them in finding their brother, Athos finally called a halt.

"We do not have the time to continue. We need to find Aramis quickly. I have had a very bad feeling since we have been here." The others nodded their heads, telling him they, too, were getting the same unsettled feelings.

Their two captives were bound and locked in one of the cells along the previous corridor. Then, the brothers resumed their search for their missing fourth, a heightened sense of urgency spurring them on now.

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Aramis' shivering was gradually increasing. Vaguely, the medic in him recognized all the signs now of a bad cold developing, but he was unable to help himself. He was curled up as tightly as he could, given the shackles' restrictive presence. But in shirtsleeves, without a blanket, cloak or any protective covering, he was aware enough to know that without help, he wouldn't make it.

He would die here, without his brothers, alone in a dark underground pit, never even to be found and properly received the last rites and be buried.

His mind tiredly turned to d'Artagnan. 'I'm so sorry, brother', he thought. My one purpose was to try to save you, and I failed miserably. May we meet again in death as we were unable to in life. Athos. Porthos. Do not grieve for me. Be at peace. Carry on. Find the loves of your life. Live for me.'

Once again, he couldn't restrain the tears. They trickled down, and then dwindled as he lost consciousness again, feeling that it might be the last time.

He had no idea how close his brothers were, if only they could find him.

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	28. Chapter 28

_**As promised, here is the second half of the chapter. If you saw a garbled version of this chapter a little earlier, the fanfiction site is a bit wonky today, I guess. I think I've fixed it. This is probably the longest chapter I've ever written! I hope you enjoy. I am so grateful for any reviews I receive if you have the time and feel inclined, or send me a pm.**_

Aramis' brothers found that the room where they had fought and subdued the now-unhooded men also had a second door opposite the first one, so since this would be somewhere they hadn't yet been, they decided to search there first.

Unlocking the door with a set of keys hanging on the wall next to the door, they found when they opened it that there were three hallways branching out from a small alcove containing a desk with a chair behind it and one facing it from the opposite direction. They surmised that it might have belonged to the man in charge of the prison guards, but it was just conjecture made a century later.

They kept together, Athos not certain they might not find more of the men who worked with the ones who were now locked up, and not wanting to risk one of them being alone and attacked.

They went down each of the corridors, checking cells for Aramis, but the cells had all obviously been unused for a very long time. There was an air of mustiness everywhere they went.

Finishing the three hallways, they were at a loss as to where to look next. They looked at each other, growing disappointment and sadness in their eyes. They had been so hopeful. Maybe those men had never been here to guard Aramis in the first place. They may have just been local bandits who may have just happened upon the place, and thought it would be a good place for a hideout for themselves and their ill-gained goods.

Still, there was a feeling they all had that their brother was near. They were so attuned to each other that they could often sense each other's presence without any evidence to the contrary. So they continued to look.

They finally found themselves back in the room they had fought in, which seemed to be the center of the sprawling prison ruins.

"He's here," Porthos growled. "I can feel it. He's here."

"We've been over every inch of this moldering ruin, Porthos," Athos said, understanding exactly what Porthos was feeling. "We have nowhere else to look."

The silence that descended at these words was painful and telling. They didn't often run into this bad of a dead end, where all the possibilities had been exhausted.

The uncomfortable, heavy silence stretched out, none of them even allowing the idea of defeat to enter their minds and hearts.

"I may have an idea?" Laurent hesitantly broke the silence.

They all swiveled their heads towards him, hardly daring to think that he could have information to help them. But desperate hope spread over their faces as they waited for him to speak.

"One of the things my brother couldn't wait to show me was one of the most evilly-conceived things I have ever seen," he said softly, his eyes reflecting some terrible sight his brother had shown him at the tender age of seven innocent years.

"There was this….deep pit." He stopped, now in the grip of his memories. "They unlocked this grate, and my brother made me look inside. He held up a torch, and I could see how far down it was. Without the torch, it was pitch black."

Athos quietly said in a tone of disgust, "An oubliette," the others nodding. They had all, unfortunately, seen one before, during a mission the year before. It had disgusted them all.

"My brother seemed to take great delight in describing it to me. Telling me convicted men were sometimes sentenced to them, and that none of them ever got out again. They wasted away for days, weeks, years, depending on how long they were fed. Many went mad long before their deaths."

"Do you remember where this oubliette was, Laurent?" Athos asked him, hoping against hope that he remembered enough of what his child's mind had seen.

Laurent shook his head slowly, and their hearts sank.

But he began to speak again. "I remember it wasn't in a cell. The oubliette was located in a room at the end of a hallway, but that's all."

Determination and growing hope started filtering into their expressions again at these words.

"Those dark musty rooms full of cobwebs!" Porthos exclaimed. "But we looked in them already."

"We looked from the hallway," Athos responded. "We did not walk around the rooms themselves."

"If he was there, wouldn't Aramis have called out?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Not if he was in no condition to have heard us," Athos grimly explained, all three of them's insides knotting themselves up as they realized how bad off Aramis would have to be not to notice any sounds.

Without a word, they all turned and headed back to the center of the prison.

They reached the room which seemed to be the chosen place for the enemy to conduct their affairs, then backtracked through the empty, darkened rooms, searching for any opening in the floor that might lead them to their brother. They swept aside the clinging, filmy cobwebs that seemed to be determined to cling onto their hats and doublets, and even the sides of their faces. They moved aside the few wooden boxes they found, first looking inside of them. Rats and other crawling things skittered away from the lights of their lanterns.

They had finished searching all the rooms on one side of the corridor, and were most of the way down the other side. Their hopes felt like they were about to be dashed once again.

It was in the next to last cell, almost back to the central room, that Athos, bending over to examine something, called out, "Here!" Porthos, d'Artagnan and Laurent were at his side immediately, as he pointed.

There, under some kind of black cloth covering which Athos had already pulled asude, was a grate. It was locked, and Athos looked expectantly at Porthos and his lock-pick abilities.

Crouching down, it took him less than a minute to pick the lock. He then lifted up the grate, peering down into the blackness. They could not see how deep the oubliette was.

Porthos tried calling out, "Aramis! Aramis! Are you there?" but he received no answer from the inky darkness.

D'Artagnan, who had been looking around the room, said, "We need something to help us get down there. They very obligingly left us just what we need," holding up a long ladder, which he and Porthos carried over to the pit and maneuvred against its inside wall. They did so as slowly and carefully as they could, as it was virtually impossible to see anything, and if Aramis was indeed down there, they didn't want to risk hitting him.

Athos elected himself the one to head down the ladder. Removing his hat, weapons belt and doublet, he swung himself over the side, and, grasping the sides of the ladder, began moving down, d'Artagnan coming along behind. The Gascon had argued that without a torch or lantern, Athos would be feeling around for Aramis, or even possibly stepping on a hand or foot without meaning to. Athos acquiesed.

Even with the lantern held aloft as they stepped off the ladder, the darkness in the pit took a moment to get used to.

At first, they feared that the pit was empty, seeing no one. Bu then, d'Aragnan raised the lantern higher.

D'Artagnan suddenly said, " He's there! pointing towards the far wall. Athos began to make out a huddled shape and a glimpse of curly locks amidst the gloom. They both moved swiftly to what they saw.

Their hearts were torn in two by the sight they beheld as they knelt down on either side of their brother.

Athos spoke softly to him, "Aramis? and once more a little louder, "Aramis?" but there was no answer or movement.

"He is unconscious," Athos said.

From the meagre light of the lantern, they could see that he had tried as best he could to curl into a ball, which right away told them he probably was wounded or sick, as it was a trait he had when either of those occurred. Athos knew they didn't have time to check into his condition more closely, as they had no idea if more of his kidnappers would be showing up at any moment.

He saw the shackles on his wrists, and attached to the wall behind him. 'They added cruelty upon cruelty,' he thought. 'He had no way to climb out of here. Why did they then add these?'

He was at the boiling point, but with effort held it in. Now was neither the time or place for it to be unleashed. But there would be a reckoning, and he would exact judgement at that time for his brother.

D'Artagnan called up to Porthos, "I need your lock picks, Porthos," bringing Porthos' bubbling anger to even a higher level at the added senseless cruelty to his best friend.

He dropped them as carefully as he could towards d'Artagnan, hoping their youngest had learned enough from the lessons he had given him to get the shackles off.

Aramis had not moved or made a sound thus far. This prompted Athos to lay two fingers along the dide Aramis' neck, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt the reassuring thump of his heartbeat but at the same time his worry ratcheted up a further notch.

With his doublet and cloak on, he hadn't been fully affected by the chill in the air. But when he had touched his brother's skin, it was icy cold. Swiftly, he pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the frigid body of his brother, he and d'Artagnan lifting him as carefully as they were able, not knowing what other injuries he might have.

But as they started to lift his upper body off the dirt floor, he gasped in pain, glassy eyes opening, but they coul see that he wasn't lucid.

"Pl….please…don' h…hurt m..me," he gasped before suddenly going utterly limp once more. Athos tried to soothe him, saying softly, "We are taking you out of here, Aramis," but his brother was no longer even semi-conscious to hear the words.

Athos and d'Artagnan looked at each other, silently wondering what else was done to him that they couldn't yet see in the gloom. His shirt and body were covered in the dirt he had been laying in, so any further examination would necessarily have to wait until they got away from this forsaken place, and found a safe place to make camp. Then, they could wash off some of the accumulated dirt and thus see what shape he was in.

It was intensely worrisome to all of them that he was seemingly completely unaware of any of them being present. That alone told them something more was dreadfully wrong that they had yet to discover.

But knowing how many men they had seen in the times they had run-ins with them, Athos was fairly positive more men had been here, and might be returning at any time. Laurent's brother was missing also, as he had not identified any of the dead or captured men.

D'Artagnan finally picked the lock of the shackles, and hissed when he saw the deep red grooves they had carved in Aramis' wrists.

Now that they were free to move him, they did so as careflully yet swiftly as possible. While he was unconscious, the movement wouldn't cause him any more pain.

The only way to get him out of the oubliette was to tie a rope under his arms, and for Porthos and Laurent to pull him up. They both hoped fervently that it wouldn't further make any injuries he had worse, but it was the only way to free him from the nightmare of the pit.

He was pulled slowly and with as much care as possible, Porthos trying his best to make sure there were no jerks or swaying of the rope.

Finally, his body reached the edge of the pit, where Porthos carefully and gently lifted him over the rim and into his arms. Looking down at his brother's pale, almost white face and body, covered with dirt and with blood, eyes closed in unconsciousness, Porthos' face reflected the horror and pain he felt for him, as well as the intense anger towards the evil men who had done this.

Wrapping the cloak more securely around his brother, Porthos and Laurent waited in silence for their brothers to climb back up to them.

Before he ascended out of the pit, d'Artagnan had taken one more look around the floor. Seeing a pile of objects in the corner, he looked closer. A few waterskins, bags and a number of ropes lay jumbled up. The ropes had been sliced by a knife. 'Is this how they fed him,' d'Artagnan thought, 'so they didn't have to make a trip down the ladder?'

Then, another thought accurred to him as Athos called to him, "D'Artagnan, hurry. We need to get away as swiftly as possible."

Taking one more look, he counted 9 of each item. 'That can't be!' his shocked mind thought.

After finally climbing up the ladder, Porthos lifted Aramis, and they moved swiftly down the hallway, through the entranceway where they had come in, and waited a few minutes until d'Artagnan and Laurent retrieved their horses.

Athos and d'Artagnan, infinitely gentle with Aramis, took him from Porthos long enough for him to mount, before lifting him once more into the gentle giant's arms.

Mounting themselves, they urged their horses into a gallop, wanting to shed the images of the prison and it's revealed horrors, and get a good distance away before more of Aramis' kidnappers would return. Then, they could finally see what shape Aramis was truly in and take care of him.

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At the prison, Mattieu and six of his men returned after finishing an errand Richelieu had insisted he needed done promptly.

Heading for their central room, they were stunned to find chaos when they opened the door, signs of a fierce fight evident everywhere.

Hearing yelling from the inner cells, he strode through the connecting door to find two of his men bound and locked in a cell.

"Musketeers, Mattieu! They were looking for…." stopping when Mattieu spun on his heel and sped back through their makeshift headquarters and down the hallway at a rapid pace, his men trying to keep up with him. The scowl on his face made them apprehensive, as they were acutely aware of his temper, some of them having been victims of it at one time or another. They dreaded his anger, as he would take it out on whoever was available.

When he entered the room containing the oubliette, he boiled over at the sight of the lifted grate.

Turning to his men, he snarled, "Am I the only one who does things right? The men I hired couldn't defend this place? What did I hire you for?" as his men backed away from his temper. They were glad they weren't in the shoes of the men locked in the cell.

"Saddle back up! We have some Musketeers to catch!"

One man a little braver, or not so bright the other men thought, spoke up, asking,"What about our men locked in the cell, Mattieu?"

Glaring at the timerity of his man, Mattieu growled, "You will leave them there. They will have plenty of time to regret being overpowered, and letting our prisoner be rescued. Let's go!"


	29. Chapter 29

Athos knew they had to get as far away as quickly as possible. They had no way of knowing how long the gang would be gone. They also knew they couldn't head back to Paris yet, as that would be exactly what they would be expected to do, making catching up to them easier and quicker. So they had ridden for several hours away from Paris.

Their horses would soon be winded, too, having been at a full gallop for some time now.

They had ridden past several farms, but he didn't want to expose one of the farming families to possible danger. But when he heard Aramis begin to wheeze and cough and Porthos trying to comfort him and still guide his horse, Athos revised his thoughts.

His brother had already been having a hard time breathing, the frigid air of his underground prison resulting in an increasingly bad cold, and the effects of it could wreck havoc on him, and the injuries they had thus far been unable to take care of.

Making the decision, he was just about to call a halt to decide which farm would do, when d'Artagnan moved up to ride alongside him. Glancing over at him and the expression on his face, Athos said, "You wished to speak to me?"

D'Artagnan said, "I didn't want to disturb you, but there's something you need to know," he hesitated, and Athos prompted him, "Yes?"curious now.

While we were down in the oubliette, I saw something. Waterskins, rope that had been sliced, and small burlap bags with what looked like bread crumbs around them. I think they lowered food and water down so they didn't need to come down themselves."

"Yes, it would have saved them time and trouble to…."

D'Artagnan interrupted him, something he rarely did, "Athos. There were only nine bags and waterskins! Considering how long they had him, they must only have been giving him anything every three days. They knew a man can only go three days without water before he would die, and whoever is behind this wanted him to suffer longer. He has to be severely starved and dehydrated."

Athos looked over at his unconscious brother, sick at what he had gone through. Thinking for a moment, he told d'Artagnan, "Ride ahead and seek out a secluded farm where we can find shelter and keep out of the eyes of the men who may already be pursuing us. It is better that we do not meet up with them, not with Aramis so vulnerable."

D'Artagnan, nodding,galloped off. Athos, Porthos and Laurent sought a short rest under some sheltering trees.

Athos and Laurent carefully lifted an utterly limp and unresponsive Aramis from Porthos' arms, and laid him down on some blankets that had been pulled from their saddlebags. Athos could feel how thin Aramis seemed, remembering d'Artagnan's suspicions, and vowed to try to get some food and water into him as soon as they had a secluded place to take are of him.

Aramis lay just as they put him down, not even curling up now. But they all noticed how badly he was shivering, even after they piled more blankets over him. They were all thinking silently, 'find somewhere quickly, d'Artagnan'. Less than half an hour later, he came racing towards them, leaping from the saddle before he had even halted.

"I found a couple who insisted that we bring our friend to their home after I told them we were Musketeers. It's just the two of them, no children. They have a double cellar, one under the other. Even if the men who will be searching for us find the house, find the cellar even, there is nothing evident that gives away that another one lies beneath it."

Athos praised him, telling him, "You've done well, d'Artagnan."

The praise from his mentor caused d'Artagnan to flush with pride, but then he hurried on. "The best part of it all is that the woman of the house is a nurse who currently, because of where they are now located, does not practice her skills. It will be perfect for Aramis," glancing worriedly down at their brother.

After once more moving Aramis up in front of a mounted Porthos, they followed d'Artagnan, who led them to the house they would be staying at.

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When they finally arrived, they found the house's occupants already waiting for them at their door.

Taking Aramis from Porthos' arms, d'Artagnan and Athos headed with him towards the waiting man and woman. She took one look at him, and said, "Poor man!" laying her hand against his cheek. "What has happened to you?"

In a swift change of manner, she briskly turned and spoke to the others, saying, "I will show you where you will be staying. Come!"

Leading the way through the house and down the stairs, she slowed her pace when she noticed Athos and Porthos, who were now carrying Aramis, were moving with care down the steps.

They reached the first cellar, and watched as she moved aside a bookcase to reveal a lever. Pulling it down, a part of the wall moved, revealing another set of stairs. Athos wondered what this house had once been used for that this hidden room existed

They maneuvered their way down to a rather large single room, with two beds, two chairs and a table. Laying Aramis down on one of the beds, Athos and Porthos almost immediately began removing his dirty breaches and shirt, now exposing his decreased body weight and injuries to their eyes.

He was obviously suffering from malnutrition, his weight loss telling them that. His skin was extremely dry to the touch from dehydration.

His torso was littered with large bruises and welts, some obviously caused by a boot. Porthos almost growled in his anger at what he was looking at, looking up to meet his brothers' almost identical expressions. His wrists were swollen and rubbed raw and red by the shackles he had been wearing when they had found him.

But the often-reopened wound in his side concerned them the most. They saw that the stitches which had at one time held the wound closed had been torn open more than once. It was a wonder that they detected no infection yet, considering the dirt covering his body from the floor he had been forced to lie upon for so long.

They heard their hostess clearing her throat delicately behind them, and Athos turned an inquiring gaze upon her.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you right now, but I believe I may be of some help?" she said.

Remembering d'Artagnan's description that she was a nurse, they gratefully moved to make room for her at the bedside. Experienced eyes surveyed all the damage, and her hands poked and prodded gently to check for anything that might be broken.

She gave a sad little sigh when she saw the wound they had been checking out.

"This will need a thorough cleaning, and then I must remove the broken stitches and put new ones in," she said softly. "I sincerely hope your friend does not regain consciousness while I am treating it."

She set to work, experienced hands swiftly, yet delicately cleaning, removing and sewing the wound, then wrapping fresh clothes as tightly as she dared around his torso with Porthos' help. Aramis never moved, never made a sound the entire time.

Next, she meticulously cleaned Aramis' body, her eyes taking in the amount of damage that had been inflicted upon him.

She told them the cloths wound around his torso would also hold in place several broken ribs.

Taking a jar she had brought down with her in a bag, she proceeded to putting salves on his torn wrists, then on the myriads of bruises littering his body.

Stopping to rest a moment, she turned to Athos, having correctly surmised already that he was the de facto leader of the small group she was helping to hide, she commented, "He has a very powerful enemy, Monsieur, to have had this done to your friend. And it is not a light matter to attack a member of the King's personal guard with impugnity. He may hold a very high rank to have so little concern for his life to do this."

Athos was startled to hear the degree of accuracy in the woman's observations. Nevertheless, not wanting to discuss his brother or their investigation with someone he had only just met, he only responded, "The culprits will be found and dealt with, Madame, rest assured." Seeing that she had figured out that he didn't welcome conversation about the situation, but grateful for her nursing of their brother, "Athos added, "You have our profound gratitude for your care, Madame. And we also thank you for your generosity in allowing us to stay in your home until our brother can bed safely moved. May I ask if you might have some broth or porridge we could try feeding him, and some water, please?"

She simply inclined her head and made to leave, saying, "You have only to ask, and we attempt to obtain anything you need. My husband is out in the fields hard at work all day. But he or I will be happy to supply you with food and water. Meals will be brought down to you, unless you wanted to send someone up to fetch them?" unsure whether she might be invading their privacy to come down several times a day.

"We would welcome simple food, and either water or wine. We will, of course, reimburse you for whatever we receive."

She nodded and turned again, and hesitated. "Your friend is very badly malnourished and dehydrated. I will bring some porridge and water down. It will be the easiest on him to start off with."

Ascending the stairs, she closed the door softly behind her.

Porthos leaned over Aramis and said softly, "You have a chance now, mon ami. No one knows where we are, so you can have a chance to heal, and not being jolted on a horse all…." not finishing as he heard, "P..P'thos?" In a disbelieving voice at the same time that he saw his brother's eyelashes attempting to open.

"Aramis!" Porthos joyfully cried. "Come on, mon ami, open those eyes for us."

But Aramis' eyelashes ceased their movements. His brothers' faces fell as they saw this. They wanted so badly for him to wake up.

After a moment, Athos said, We will still need to keep watch, even if we are down here. Just in case. I will take first watch, Porthos second ….."

His words died away as they saw Aramis' eyes trying again to open. Finally, his lids lifted, only to rapidly shut from all the light in the room, a moan escaping his lips. D'Artagnan, recognizing what was wrong, rapidly moved around the room, extinguishing all but one of the lanterns, putting the now-solitary one in the far corner of the room

"Aramis," Porthos said, "it's ok. You can open your eyes. We darkened the room for you."

Chocolate brown eyes slowly opened, wearily gazing back at them, slowly moving from one face to another. Then, his brows drew together in confusion.

"You're…really…here?" His voicy was raspy and they all had to lean down to be able to hear him. "I'm n…not dr…dreaming?"

Panicking that he was once more just dreamig, and would wake up in the pit that he had begun to fear was his tomb, his eyes darted to one of them's eyes, then another's, as if he was begging for reassurance that what he was experiencing was indeed real. His breathing accelerated in response to his panic.

"Yes, you're here, mon ami," Porthos reassured him, lifting a hand to gently thread through his brother's hair in a soothing motion. Those brutes will never come near you again."

"I…I'm not in the …ou…oubliette still?" Aramis couldn't yet grasp the change. His eyes looked over their shoulders around the room, as if to confirm for himself that he was no longer deep underground, alone, or chained.

In response, Athos and d'Artagnan each took one of his hands in their own to let him feel that they were indeed with him, and that he wasn't alone and just dreaming.

When it finally impressed itself upon him, a tear escaped the corner of his eye, finding its way slowly down his cheek,as he shakily drew a deep breath.

"It's r…real. Y…you are …here."


	30. Chapter 30

"Of course you are," Porthos answered. "You didn't think we wouldn't find you, now did you?"

Aramis' breathing was now calming down. "H…how….. Th..they said n..no one w..would ever f…find me," the tear being joined by several more trickling down, both from the words he had just spoken and from sheer joy to be with his brothers again.

"They were wrong, mon ami. We shall share everything with you when you've had more rest."

They could see that his tired mind was trying to figure things out, and his brows drew together in a sort-of mini-frown. All that he had been through ptevented that normally very sharp and alert mind to feel as if was wading through mud now. His brothers knew him very well, and knew, too, that he was frustrated by his present weakness.

"Aramis, just rest. Your mind, your body, your emotions have been dealt a severe blow. It will take time to recover, but you have to allow yourself that time. You fo not want to injure yourself further, mon ami," Athos said gently.

His eyes kept up their movements to each of his brother's faces, afraid they would fade away if he closed them. He couldn't bear it if his joy was taken away.

But then his eyes stopped, fixing themselves on d'Artagnan, who had been stowing their saddlebags in a small storage room and had now joined them. His eyes were growing wide in disbelief.

Athos, seeing this, said, "They had him, but he came back, Aramis."

"H..how?"

Porthos drew a reluctant Laurent forward with an arm around his shoulders." This young man helped him to escape. Then, memories from his childhood led us to you."

Aramis looked at the unfamiliar young man who kept his gaze on the floor. He reminded him of someone, but his mind was not yet cooperating with him to remember.

He was having an increasingly difficult time staying conscious, but he didn't want to to sleep. He still the fear inside.

Focusing on d'Artagnan again, a tiny smile played about his mouth as he attempted to lift his arm towards him. D'Artagnan, seeing this and realizing what Aramis was trying so hard to do, took his brother's hand in his own and gently squeezed. He could feel the fine tremors running through Aramis, rrcognizing the exhaustion and pain he was in.

"We're both back, Aramis."

His brothers, overjoyed at having found him, at the same time were beside themselves with rage at what had been done to him. They all wanted to find his kidnappers at the end of their swords or pistols.

Athos, though he loathed doing so, gently squeezed his brother's hand and steeled himself to ask Aramis, "Mon ami, do you know who did this to you?"

Aramis' facial expression slowly changed to one they very seldom saw-fear. Aramis was one of the bravest men any of them had ever known, and to see this tore them apart.

"It is all right, Aramis. You do not have to say anything. Just rest, brother. We will be with you at all times. Sleep," he said softly, as Aramis' eyelids, almost against his will, began to close.

Taking a collective deep breath and realizing even more how fragile Aramis was not only physically but emotionally, they silently looked at each other, sadness in all their eyes.

But they were unprepared for the faint voice of their brother, shocking them all at with the one word he said-'Richelieu'- before his eyes closed once more

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"Richelieu?! He's behind all of this?" d'Artagnan said, his face reflecting his shock.

"I'll wring that man's neck for him!" Porthos growled.

Athos shook his head. "It is not that easy, and he knows it. He has the King's ear, has had it for years."

"The King is too easily led by the nose," Porthos interrupted.

"Granted. But we need unshakeable proof to bring a charge against him that Louis will even listen to."

"We're not going to let him get away with this!" Porthos angrily retorted

"Of course not, Porthos," Athos responded. "But at the moment, we cannot prove anything. Louis would dismiss our case out of hand if we present the little information we have at present. We have an ancient crumbling prison with no evidence that Aramis was ever in it. We have prior attacks upon us that we cannot prove, as Richelieu will just say the only witnesses are other Musketeers who accompanied Treville. We know he has many men hired to commit his evil deeds, but but we have no idea who all but one of them is, and we only have the word of someone who was once a member of these men that his brother is involved."

Silence followed Athos summation of their difficulty. Glancing over at Aramis, Porthos said firmly,"It's not right. Aramis would have died in that pit from blood loss, and starved, beaten, denied the light of day or even being with another living person. And in the meantime, Richelieu is still living living in the lap of luxury in the King's palace.

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After Porthos took his hand away from his shoulder, Laurent slipped further back, guilt eating away at him.

He should not be having praise heaped upon his head for anything. He had been a member of the men who had kidnapped d'Artagnan, and held against his will.

He had overheard his brother on more than one occasion talking about 'taking' the other Musketeer. He was a guilty man.

He had spent enough time with the Musketeers to know these were good and honorable men. They were totally opposite in both character and action to the brother he loathed. Aramis deserved nothing that had been done to him, and which had nearly killed him.

How could he live with himself? He refused to consider that he had lived in utter fear of his older brother his whole life. A real man would have found a way to slip out and make his way to the Musketeers garrison to inform them of his brother's activities.

His head hung down as the guilt ate away at him.

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As Aramis slept, he grew increasingly restless as a thick grey haze swirled in his head. Then, a voice taunted him, "You really thought your brothers came for you?"


	31. Chapter 31

_**I had the worst time ever trying to publish Chapter 31 today. It came out jumbled all together, and wouldn't fix. I tried totally deleting it, but it was still there. Out of frustration, I've posted it again as Chapter 32 so you won't wreck your eyes trying to read the way it had earlier turned out-lol! Enjoy!**_

Richelieu walked through the halls of the palace, inwardly enjoying the bows of respect he received from everyone he passed.

His mind turned to the imprisoned Musketeer, and he almost smiled at how easy it had been to resolve that problem.

He made up his mind to get a report in the morning. The man should be dead by now, or very close to it. No one gets away with crossing me, or making a fool out of me, he thought.

If only he was able to remove the Spanish queen's presence, as well. But he knew that was next to impossible right now. But he could be patient. Possibilities might open up in the future.

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Athos awoke feeling the tension in his brother. He was shaking badly. What had happened? he wondered.

"N..no! Y..you're not ..here!" Aramis whispered.

Who wasn't here? Athos thought. He is having a nightmare, laying his hand atround the back of his brother's neck gently to ground him. But Aramis' panic level increased as he felt a hand touch him.

"I..I'm s..safe now. Y..you're not h..here," he whispered again.

"But I am," the figure confidently asserted. "You thought you left. You will never leave here. You will stay here until you eventually die. Some day, perhaps centuries from now, someone may find what remains, a few bones."

"Noooo…"

He felt hands on his arms, and his panic increased. "No, p…please….."

"Aramis! Aramis! It's all right!" Porthos had been sitting beside Aramis' bed when his brother began to move restlessly under the blankets. Alarmed, Porthos tried to lift him into his arms, only to find that when he touched his brother, it increased the frenzy he was under as it had with Athos.

D'Artagnan was now at his bedside as well. Aramis' eyes were open wide, but not lucid. He was seeing or hearing something they couldn't understand.. They could all see the abject fear in his eyes, his desperate struggle to get away from Porthos' arms.

"He is having a nightmare. We need to hold him still or he will open that wound yet again."

They caught his now-flailing limbs and restrained him as firmly as they could, not wanting to cause him any more hurt, but not wanting him to hurt himself.

Aramis continued to hear the voice he dreaded. "I will never let you out of here!"

He struggled harder, trying desperately to break loose. But his mind and body finally exhausted itself, and his body went entirely limp. He had never recognized that it was, in reality, the brothers he loved who were holding him.

His efforts had left him drenched and spent. His brothers looked at one another, shaken by the wild frenzy they had seen him go through.

D'Artagnan finally broke the silence. "What kind of games did they play with his mind?"

Athos shook his head sorrowfully. "I think this fear is being caused by the oubliette itself. Aramis has never liked being in small, enclosed spaces, and he was locked into an underground pit, made even worse by high walls he had no hope of scaling. The total lack of light and being left utterly alone for days at a time added to the desolation he was made to feel."

Continuing to watch their traumatized brother as he now slept, Athos continued softly. "We need to continue to give him all the love and presence he has been deprived of for so long. respond, I am sure of it. And we need him to feel our presence when he is sleeping."

Suiting his actions to his words, he lay down next to Aramis, drew his brother closer, and pulled the blanket over them both.

They would not leave Aramis to face his darkness alone.

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Mattieu and the rest of Richelieu's hired men scoured the area surrounding the prison, figuring Aramis was in no shape to be taken too far by his brothers without stopping to tend to him.

But they found nothing. No trail. No Musketeers. Nothing. It was like the earth had opened and swallowed them up, one of the men said.

Mattieu was of a far less superstitious mind, and said, "They're hiding somewhere. It's just a matter of time until we find them."

Sending one of them back to Paris to inform Richelieu of what had happened, he and his men continued to search for their missing Musketeer.

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Aramis didn't come around again until early in the morning of the following day. His brothers were very concerned, because they knew they needed to get him to eat and drink something. He had been unconscious almost the entire time since they had found him.

"Let us try to get some water into him," Athos said. "We can try massaging his throat to help get him to swallow. We do not know how long it has been since he was given anything."

After several tries, they finally got a little water into him. He had not had any more nightmares so far, for which they were all grateful, but he also showed no signs of waking up, either.

They decided it would be a good idea to check out his injuries while he wasn't conscious, so they would hopefully put him through no added pain. The wound in his side was looking a little better, and showed no signs of infection. The bruise marks on his body were still angry and red, though. The red circles around his wrists from the shackles were still swollen and painful-looking.

They figured he had yanked on them repeatedly during his captivity to cause that much swelling. He had been desperate. They all thought once again what a horrible thing to do to a person. What kind of a mind thinks up such things?

When he didn't awaken that day, they began to wonder how long this might last. They resolved to keep feeding him the water, but were concerned with his lack of any solid food.

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That night, when Porthos' was laying beside him tending to him, the nightmares returned. Aramis flailed his arms, one of them landing on Porthos' shoulder, but with all the force of an infant's strength behind it. His brothers joined him, and once again, although dreading to have to do so, held him firmly down.

He cried out in panic, but was unable to move. "Please!" he begged. "P..please don't h..hurt…" and then, just like before, his body went completely limp again.

"He is remembering something specific they did to him that caused him pain," Athos softly murmured.

The brothers had no way of knowing he was remembering Laurent's brother's savage visits with the accompanying 'punishments'.

They resolved to make sure he was never alone, always with one of his brothers.

Later that day, he finally awoke agaim. Weary eyes opened to find three sets of very concerned eyes looking at him.

" 's w..wrong?" he asked, voice barely audible.

"Nothing, Aramis. We are very glad to finally see you awake again," Athos replied.

"Didn't I just n..ap for a w..while?" he asked.

D'Artagnan answered before Athos could warn him, saying, "You were out for over a day, Aramis."

At these words, Aramis frowned, confused to hear that he had slept for so long. Athos decided to change the subject, not wanting Aramis to dwell on why he was out for so long.

They let Aramis know where they were, and the couple who took them in, telling them about their kindness.

He was still exhausted and in considerable pain, but otherwise calm.

They persuaded him to try a little broth. He took a few mouthfuls before shaking his head, indicating his stomach hurt. They hoped there wasn't anything happening to him internally. They had no way of knowing.

He wasn't awake very long before his eyelids closed in sleep once again.

He hadn't mentioned any disturbances, obviously not remembering having any nightmares. They just hoped the nightmares wouldn't happen again while he slept.

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About an hour afterward, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were awakened by a loud disturbance coming from above their heads. They all drew their weapons, fearing the worst.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Ok. Fanfiction is still a little messed up today, too. So it's forcing me to post this chapter as 33 in the publishing section, even though you will see that there is no 32. You aren't missing anything. The story goes along as it should, unless fanfiction does another number on me. Hopefully, they will get all the bugs out by the time I post the next chapter, which might be Sunday or Monday, if all goes well. Sorry to put you through this. It's been a real strange time trying to navigate their site right now.**_

Pistols and swords drawn, the Musketeers stayed as still as possible, encircling their brother in a protective stance.

Booted feet moved around the upper level. Then, someone raised his voice, demanding, "Where are they?"

They heard the voice of their hostess reply, cool and calm for all the world acting as if she didn't have four Musketeers sheltering in her cellar. "Who are you searching for?"

If anything, the man's voice grew louder and more intimidating. "As if you do not know."

"Sir, my husband and I live here alone. Our children and grown and gone. No one else is here, or has been here for a great while."

"Then, you won't mind if we look around the place?" he demanded instead of asked.

"My husband might, but he's gone to Paris to see if he can sell some of our harvest. Search where you will," no fear at these men at all in her voice.

Sounds of more booted feet began moving around above them, accompanied by banging and rustling, as if opening doors and looking through things. It seemed to go on forever to them. Their haven temporarily had become their trap. They had absolutely no way to get away if the searchers found the way to open their hiding place.

It was during the search that they heard a low moan and a slight movement from behind them. Moving swiftly and hating what they were forced to do, they bent over Aramis, Athos putting one hand firmly over his brother's mouth to keep him from any more sounds that could betray their presence to the searchers. Porthos and d'Artagnan held him still as firmly yet gently as they could.

Aramis was partly conscious, though, and the sudden hands holding him down and binding his mouth struck fear into him. He began struggling to break loose. They had no trouble keeping him still as he had no strength to combat them, but they felt awful that they had to do it, seeing his face contort with his efforts to get away from what he once again believed to be his captors' grips. Athos could feel the panicked breathing as he kept Aramis silent. He was afraid his brother's heart was racing, too.

The man's voice growled above them again. "Men were seen heading this way by other farmers we spoke to. Where are they?" he asked once more in a very intimidating voice.

"They may have come this direction and kept right on going. There are low-lying hills beyond here. They may well have thought them a perfect place to hide out. I have seen no one. You have searched and torn apart my poor home, so you have seen for yourself I am alone," she responded. "What did these men do that you are after them?"

"That is none of your affair, madam. Suffice it to say that they have taken something valuable from my employer, and for that they will pay with their lives. If you see or hear anything that will aid us in our search, you had better contact us immediately-or face the consequences," and with those parting words, he turned and left, followed in silence by all of his men.

They mounted up and galloped off in a thunder of hooves. She waited until the sounds faded into the distance before heading down the stairs to the lower cellar.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Aragnan couldn't have felt worse if they tried. The last thing they wanted to do was to make their traumatized brother relive the torment of being held in captivity again, but they had no choice.

The men searching for them would have an overwhelming advantage of coming at them from above, making it extremely difficult to defend against, while protecting their highly vulnerable brother from them at the same time.

They could still feel Aramis' weak attempts to free himself under them for several moments while the men were still above. Then, his body went limp.

Once the sounds abovestairs faded away and disappeared, they turned very worried eyes on their brother as they released him. He was staring up at them, eyes wide with fear. They could see that he wasn't lucid, and wasn't recognizing them at the moment. His chest was heaving as his fear had caused his breathing to accelerate.

Hoping to comfort him and let him know everything was all right, Porthos reached out a hand to lay on his arm. Aramis flinched away from him to Porthos' horror.

Athos stayed by the bed, but made no movements toward his brother. Instead, he spoke softly and calmly to him.

"Aramis, it is Athos. Porthos is here and d'Artagnan. You're all right," but received no recognition in response.

Athos was quiet for a few moments, thinking. Then, he turned to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Perhaps if just one of us is here, he will relax a little. He isn't lucid, just sees all of us as being threatening to him."

Both men vehemently protested, Porthos saying, "I would never hurt my best friend!"

Athos was quick to explain. "I know that, Porthos. But Aramis does not recognize us at the moment. I would like to try speaking to him alone. Could you and d'Artagnan go take care of the horses, draw a couple of buckets of water, and obtain some broth or porridge from our hostess, please? If it does not work out with me, you may try next."

Both men were downcast as they reluctantly headed for the steps up to the first cellar, then into the house, heading out the front door. They first cautiously looked from the doorway to make sure a lookout from the group had not been positioned to spy on the house.

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Athos gazed down at his beleagred brother, wondering if what he was about to do would bring their brother back to them again. He had known he needed to do so without Porthos or d'Artagnan's presence, considering the subject he intended to bring up with Aramis.

Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Aramis." he said softly. And again a little louder, "Aramis?"

Aramis stared back up at him, still with no hint of recognition in his pain-filled eyes.

"Aramis, you are not recognizing us right now. That is all right. Some very bad men held you captive and hurt you. Then, we had to keep you from making any sound, so those same bad men would not find you." Stopping, Athos could see that he had Aramis' attention now, but no sign that he understood his words yet.

"Aramis, to help you to remember me, I am going to share something with you that only you and I know about so that you will know me. All right?"

Aramis didn't reply, but the intensity of his gaze told Athos he was at least curious.

"Aramis, you and the" …. stopping for a moment at what he was about to say. "Aramis, do you remember our time at the convent?"


	33. Chapter 33

_**Ok. Fanfiction is still a little messed up today, too. So it's forcing me to post this chapter as 33 in the publishing section, as their site dropped chapter 31, and made last week chapter 32!**_ _ **You aren't missing anything. The story goes along as it should, unless fanfiction does another number on me. Hopefully, they will get all the bugs out by the time I post the next chapter, which might be Sunday or Monday, if all goes well. Sorry to put you through this. It's been a real strange time trying to navigate their site right now.**_

Pistols and swords drawn, the Musketeers stayed as still as possible, encircling their brother in a protective stance.

Booted feet moved around the upper level. Then, someone raised his voice, demanding, "Where are they?"

They heard the voice of their hostess reply, cool and calm for all the world acting as if she didn't have four Musketeers sheltering in her cellar. "Who are you searching for?"

If anything, the man's voice grew louder and more intimidating. "As if you do not know."

"Sir, my husband and I live here alone. Our children and grown and gone. No one else is here, or has been here for a great while."

"Then, you won't mind if we look around the place?" he demanded instead of asked.

"My husband might, but he's gone to Paris to see if he can sell some of our harvest. Search where you will," no fear at these men at all in her voice.

Sounds of more booted feet began moving around above them, accompanied by banging and rustling, as if opening doors and looking through things. It seemed to go on forever to them. Their haven temporarily had become their trap. They had absolutely no way to get away if the searchers found the way to open their hiding place.

It was during the search that they heard a low moan and a slight movement from behind them. Moving swiftly and hating what they were forced to do, they bent over Aramis, Athos putting one hand firmly over his brother's mouth to keep him from any more sounds that could betray their presence to the searchers. Porthos and d'Artagnan held him still as firmly yet gently as they could.

Aramis was partly conscious, though, and the sudden hands holding him down and binding his mouth struck fear into him. He began struggling to break loose. They had no trouble keeping him still as he had no strength to combat them, but they felt awful that they had to do it, seeing his face contort with his efforts to get away from what he once again believed to be his captors' grips. Athos could feel the panicked breathing as he kept Aramis silent. He was afraid his brother's heart was racing, too.

The man's voice growled above them again. "Men were seen heading this way by other farmers we spoke to. Where are they?" he asked once more in a very intimidating voice.

"They may have come this direction and kept right on going. There are low-lying hills beyond here. They may well have thought them a perfect place to hide out. I have seen no one. You have searched and torn apart my poor home, so you have seen for yourself I am alone," she responded. "What did these men do that you are after them?"

"That is none of your affair, madam. Suffice it to say that they have taken something valuable from my employer, and for that they will pay with their lives. If you see or hear anything that will aid us in our search, you had better contact us immediately-or face the consequences," and with those parting words, he turned and left, followed in silence by all of his men.

They mounted up and galloped off in a thunder of hooves. She waited until the sounds faded into the distance before heading down the stairs to the lower cellar.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Aragnan couldn't have felt worse if they tried. The last thing they wanted to do was to make their traumatized brother relive the torment of being held in captivity again, but they had no choice.

The men searching for them would have an overwhelming advantage of coming at them from above, making it extremely difficult to defend against, while protecting their highly vulnerable brother from them at the same time.

They could still feel Aramis' weak attempts to free himself under them for several moments while the men were still above. Then, his body went limp.

Once the sounds abovestairs faded away and disappeared, they turned very worried eyes on their brother as they released him. He was staring up at them, eyes wide with fear. They could see that he wasn't lucid, and wasn't recognizing them at the moment. His chest was heaving as his fear had caused his breathing to accelerate.

Hoping to comfort him and let him know everything was all right, Porthos reached out a hand to lay on his arm. Aramis flinched away from him to Porthos' horror.

Athos stayed by the bed, but made no movements toward his brother. Instead, he spoke softly and calmly to him.

"Aramis, it is Athos. Porthos is here and d'Artagnan. You're all right," but received no recognition in response.

Athos was quiet for a few moments, thinking. Then, he turned to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Perhaps if just one of us is here, he will relax a little. He isn't lucid, just sees all of us as being threatening to him."

Both men vehemently protested, Porthos saying, "I would never hurt my best friend!"

Athos was quick to explain. "I know that, Porthos. But Aramis does not recognize us at the moment. I would like to try speaking to him alone. Could you and d'Artagnan go take care of the horses, draw a couple of buckets of water, and obtain some broth or porridge from our hostess, please? If it does not work out with me, you may try next."

Both men were downcast as they reluctantly headed for the steps up to the first cellar, then into the house, heading out the front door. They first cautiously looked from the doorway to make sure a lookout from the group had not been positioned to spy on the house.

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Athos gazed down at his beleagred brother, wondering if what he was about to do would bring their brother back to them again. He had known he needed to do so without Porthos or d'Artagnan's presence, considering the subject he intended to bring up with Aramis.

Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Aramis." he said softly. And again a little louder, "Aramis?"

Aramis stared back up at him, still with no hint of recognition in his pain-filled eyes.

"Aramis, you are not recognizing us right now. That is all right. Some very bad men held you captive and hurt you. Then, we had to keep you from making any sound, so those same bad men would not find you." Stopping, Athos could see that he had Aramis' attention now, but no sign that he understood his words yet.

"Aramis, to help you to remember me, I am going to share something with you that only you and I know about so that you will know me. All right?"

Aramis didn't reply, but the intensity of his gaze told Athos he was at least curious.

"Aramis, you and the" …. stopping for a moment at what he was about to say. "Aramis, do you remember our time at the convent?"

 _ **Next chapter, whatever the site decides to number it, may be up tomorrow or Monday. Thanks so much for trying to navigate through this mini-nightmare-lol.**_


	34. Chapter 34

_**I got the next chapter done a lot earlier than I thought I would. Enjoy! And thanks so much for reading, reviewing, following, etc.**_

Porthos was not happy about being sent out, wanting to be with his brother. When they had finished the tasks Athos has asked them to do, he was still fuming.

D'Artagnan, seeing more clearly what Athos was trying to do, attempted to calm his brother down. "Athos is our brother, Porthos. You know he cares about Aramis as much as we do. Why are you so upset?"

"I've just seen him and Aramis talking sometimes, and stopping when I came along. What are they hiding? Now, he wants to talk to Aramis alone? Secrets again. I don't like it."

"He just figured Aramis wasn't reacting well to all of us being there, that's all," d'Artagnan responded. "You were upset that we had to restrain Aramis like that. And you're worried sick about Aramis, and frustrated that we have to be holed up here instead of getting him back to Paris. But we all are feeling upset about it, Porthos. Athos is just trying something to help Aramis. Let's let him do it."

But Porthos hung back. "How could he be afraid of us? We're his see that naked fear in his eyes. Seeing him shrink back when I touched him. I just wanted to reassure him, comfort him."

"He's not himself yet, Porthos. He has been through so much. I can't even imagine being locked in that black pit, and being forced to think he won't ever get out, that he would slowly die there. I don't know how I would have reacted. And then, to suddenly feel hands holding him down, and covering his mouth. It was just too much after what he had just gone through."

"What if he never…"

"Aramis is strong, Porthos. You know that better than anyone. He just needs time, and we need to be patient enough to give it to him"

Porthos was silent for a bit, then slowly nodded his head. D'Artagnan playfully punched him in shoulder, saying, "I think we've given them enough time. Let's head back inside."

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Athos really didn't know what the reaction to his question would be. He just wanted to take away the horrible sight of him being afraid of them.

Aramis lay there for some time, before his brows drew together, his face now registering confusion as he gazed at his brother.

The silence stretched out, and Athos' hopes sank as he feared that his idea had not worked.

And then he heard Aramis' voice, soft, hesitant and raspy, "I h..haven't b..been with h..her again." His words revealed his hurt at what he thought was the beginning once again of an accusation.

Athos' emotions were torn in two by his brother's words. He was so incredibly glad to hear him speak, and also to see that the fear of them was gone from his eyes. But Aramis' words told him his brother felt accused of continuing to be with Anne, which had not been Athos' intention, although in hindsight now, he could clearly see how Aramis could think that.

He knew he had been giving his brother a hard time about his feelings for the queen, especially after the announcement that she was with child. But this time, he had only meant to show Aramis that he was with his friends and not his captors again.

"Aramis, I…" he began, only to be interrupted by Aramis' barely audible voice, as he continued, "I'm s..sorry."

Athos didn't let him get any further before gently laying his hand on his brother's shoulder. There was no flinch this time.

"Aramis, my only purpose in bringing it up was to show you that it was your friends, your brothers that you are with now, not the evil men who kidnapped you."

"Why…"

"Why did we hold you down? Aramis, those men were searching for you. They were upstairs, above us. If they had heard us…heard you…"

"I'm s..sorry," he heard again, and in response, Athos leaned down to softly squeeze his brother's shoulders. "You do not have anything to be sorry for, Aramis. It was your life we were trying to protect, like you've protected ours so many times in the past."

Silence reigned once more, both of them reflecting upon what had just been said. Then, Athos asked him, "Would you like to try eating something? Broth? Porridge perhaps? I do not think you were given much to eat. You are skin and bones, brother."

Aramis replied, "I..th..think I g..given f..food and w..water every three d..days." Aramis' stuttering was very much concerning Athos as he listened, but his words shocked and angered him. He tried not to let Aramis see it.

So d'Artagnan had been right. They had been slowly starving him with that little an amount of food and water. They needed to get as much sustenance into him as he could take. Between the lack of food and water and his wounds, no wonder he couldn't stay awake and his mind was not functioning as normal.

It was then that Porthos and d'Artagnan came back. They were overjoyed to see Aramis recognizing them with a somewhat exhausted smile.

When Athos had relayed what Aramis had said about the food and water, d'Artagnan took off back up the steps he had just come down to see if Madame could spare some broth or porridge.

Pprthos came and replaced Athos, who vacated the chair by Aramis' bedside for his brother. Gone was Porthos' anger at the sight of Aramis awake and smiling at them. He didn't reach out to touch Aramis at all. But Aramis tried to lift his arm out to his brother, to which Porthos responded with a huge grin of relief, reaching down and grabbing his Aramis' hand.

When d'Artagnan returned with the broth, they were able to get Aramis to about a third of the bowl plus some water, before he fell asleep exhausted.

The brothers decided to check Aramis' side, ribs and the many bruises and welts as gently and thoroughly as they could while he was asleep, to spare him the pain. The wound in his side that had been so brutally kicked by Mattieu still looked angry and red. His wrists where the shackles had left deep grooves, looked close to infection, probably from the dirt of the floor rubbing into them. They intended to keep a close eye especially on his side and wrists, hoping they wouldn't get worse. Aramis had been through far too much torment already.

Pulling the blankets up to his chin, they silently looked st each other, grateful that he was sleeping peacefully.

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Mattieu was becoming more angry and more prone to take it out on his men the longer their search for the Musketeer grew. He knew Richelieu was going to tear him apart verbally if and when he heard about it, and quite probably have him imprisoned or executed for his failure to complete the assigment he had been hired for. He had his men searching around the clock in shifts, but they had found nothing, no clues, no sightings and no Musketeers.

Finally, he decided, "We will go back over the whole terrain again. Someone has to have seen something. Use any methods you have to employ to find that Musketeer and his friends. They will wish for death before I get through with them."

Even some of the most hardened criminals among them shivered when they heard this. Mattieu had a reputation when he was crossed or didn't get what he thought he had coming to him.


	35. Chapter 35

_**I'm sorry this is rather short. I may have another piece done by Monday or Tuesday. Thanks so much for reading my story!**_

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At the abandoned prison, an outraged and furious voice laid into two of the men Mattieu had left behind just in case Richelieu happened to pay an unexpected visit, as he tended to do.  
"He's gone?! Someone's head will pay for this!"

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Aramis slept the rest of that day and night, and most of the next day. One of his brothers was at his side at all times. Their hostess came both days to check on him. She expressed concern about his side and wrists the first day, taking herself back upstairs and coming back down with salves that she rubbed into the injuries.

"You come and get me if these get any worse," she told them. "I don't like the looks of them," she said, before covering him with the blanket once more and going back upstairs again.

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He was shivering. He fought to open eyelids that stubbornly refused to obey him. He persisted, and finally, they responded in opening the tiniest bit. But after his struggle, he couldn't see anything.

'Why is it so..dark?' he asked himself. 'My brothers came, didn't they? But..it's so dark, like…' stopping himself from going on, terrified of finding confirmation of his fears.

Next, he heard booted feet, something he had always heard with the 'visits'. 'No, no,' he could feel the panic rising in him.

But then, he became conscious of his hand being held in another's. 'I was never given a kind touch. Maybe..' his thoughts interrupted by the flare of a match, then light glowing softly from the corner.

Lifting his eyes, he found the steady gaze of Athos upon him, concern and affection mirrored in them. "You .. really came," Aramis breathed the words in a whisper-soft voice. He found that he couldn't quit looking, afraid that if he closed his eyes, no one would be there..

Their hostess had warned them, after they had described as much of Aramis' ordeal as they knew, that this might happen a few times. Aramis' mind had been so traumatized that for e next few upon awakening, might need reassurance that he was indeed safe.

"Yes, we did, mon ami," Athos replied in a soft voice, and squeezing Aramis' hand. "How do you feel?"

Aramis said in a halting voice, "Tired and sore."

Knowing his brother's usual insistence on being 'just fine', it told Athos that Aramis was likely experiencing a great deal of pain. He was just about to respond when Aramis murmured, "Hot."

Athos' worry level went up when he heard this. Studying his brother more closely, he now saw tiny beads of sweat on his face and neck. They had a blanket over him, but Athos knew it wasn't an outer warmth affecting Aramis. It was what they had all feared-infection had set in.

Knowing his brothers were right at his shoulders, Athos, without turning his head, said, "D'Artagnan, get Madame, please.

Aramis, seeing the worry on Athos' face, asked, "what's wrong?"

Athos, not wanting to upset him, said, "You have not eaten in far too long, mon ami.

"I don't..think my stomach can..take anything."

"She can make a broth. You just close your eyes and rest, brother." Athos' voice was infinitely gentle, a tone which no one but his brothers ever heard. As much as they had been hoping Aramis would regain his alertness, they all three hoped he would tire and fall asleep again before he could hear them discussing the infection with their hostess.

But it wasn't to be. Aramis, even as ill and injured as he was, could read their faces as clearly as a book. A little flare of panic ran through him as he asked again, "What's wrong?" his gaze flitting from one of their faces to the next for answers.

This was when Athos hated being their leader. He knew he needed to give Aramis an answer, and he knew that if it wasn't the truth but instead something designed to calm him, that his brother would know. All four of them could read each other, but Aramis' talent for it was by far the strongest.

He sighed as he said slowly, "We believe one of your wounds has become infected, and that's why…

"That's why I feel so hot," Aramis finished for him. I thought ...maybe that was it," surprising them with being more alert than they had thought.

Before any of them could react verbally to that, their hostess came down the steps.

Reaching the bedside, she saw that his eyes were open, and said, "I am very pleased to at last make your acquaintance, my sleepy patient," she teased him.

And Aramis, even in as bad a shape as he was in, responded to her playful greeting as if she were one of the high-born ladies of the Court, saying, "The pleasure is all mine, my beautiful nurse," gazing up at her with the chocolate eyes that half the women in the palace would wish were on them.

Their hostess broke into a lovely smile as she said, "You have a golden tongue, monsieur ," but it was said in a soft voice as she tousled his hair.

It was a lighthearted moment, his brothers slightly incredulous that, even flat on his back and in very bad shape, he still could flatter and fluster the heart of the woman tending him with his words and gaze. Was there any female heart that could harden against him, they wondered.

"It is easy to find the words when I have my inspiration in front of me," he returned.

"You, monsieur, are a delight for the ears. Now, lie still and let me examine you," she said, the smile remaining.

It was both playful and compliment on Aramis' part. But then, she started to examine him. They could see how even the slightest touch of her hands, as gentle as she was doing it, was causing him excruciating pain when it got near the much-abused wound in his side.

But it was nothing compared to the moment her fingers brushed as lightly as she could on the wound itself. His back arched, and an angushed cry came from him before he passed out.

 _ **Let me know if I didn't find all of the formatting errors. Fanfiction once again tried to make it all one paragraph.**_

 _ **If there are any medical goofs, I don't have any medical expertise, although a sister, niece and cousin are in the field.**_


	36. Chapter 36

It was early in the morning two days later. Aramis had been burning up with fever the entire time. His brothers alternated changing the cool cloths on his forehead and chest

Their hostess had cleaned the wound twice a day to keep it clear from the pus that kept forming in it. She also continued to monitor his heartrate and breathing. She was pleased to see that the other areas she had been concerned about, his lacerated wrists, were healing nicely now. 'If only we can get him over this current infection now,' she thought to herself, 'he stands a chance. Poor young man. Watch over him, Lord,' the prayer having kept up a litany in her mind since the infection had surfaced.

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Late that second night, the fever broke. His brothers' faces broke into wide grins when they were told that the infection was beginning to clear up.

Feeling better of the outcome finally, their hostess agreed to sit down with them and join them in a small cup of wine.

They were enjoying finally having something to celebrate, and were relaxed.

She said, "I just realized you don't even know my name. My husband's, yes. But somehow mine slipped through the cracks. Please call me Jehanne, monsieurs. I am named after my papa, Jehan."

She told them about growing up on her papa"s farm, of learning the healing arts from an elderly nurse who was crippled with arthritis and could no longer take care of anyone other than herself.

She told them about her arranged marriage to Henri, how she grew to love the man she knew nothing of until their wedding night. She went to share with them her pride in her two full-grown sons and their work, the young women they were affianced to, her happiness at the prospect of maybe becoming a grandmother someday.

They talked for some time, voices subdued so as not to disturb Aramis. At the end of the evening as she made her way over to the stairs, she told them, "He could awaken at any time. I don't need to tell you gentlemen to stay beside him through the night. Have a good night," beginning to climb the steps as she spoke.

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Very early in the morning, Porthos was sitting alert at his brother's bedside when he saw small muscle twitches in Aramis' upper body. Sitting up straighter, he eagerly waited for more signs that Aramis was finally waking up.

Sure enough, his eyelids began to twitch next. Softly, the big man called Athos and d'Artagnan over.

By this time, the marksman was struggling to open his eyes. When they finally did, his weary eyes saw his brothers once again looking down at him, all three of them smiling to see him awake once more.

"It is good to see you awake again, brother," Athos said.

Wrinkling his forehead, Aramis started to speak, but his throat was too dry to do so. D'Artagnan hurriedly poured a cup of water and slowly helped him to drink, as Porthos held his brother up far enough to be able to do so.

When he was finished, Aramis again tried to speak. "How l..long?" his voice scratchy yet with disuse, even after drinking the water.

Porthos glanced over at Athos, who nodded. None of them felt comfortable keeping things from each other.

"Two days, Aramis. But the infection is receding now. You are yet weak and probably in some pain, but as of now, we have been told you have a good chance to recover completely. Needless to say, we are all very glad," Athos said.

But Aramis wasn't finished with questions, and now asked, "The men…," Athos answered what he knew the question was going to be.

"They were here several days ago, Aramis. You probably do not remember. We could hear them searching the house, but we are in a second cellar underneath the main one. They found nothing and left. They have not been back thus far."

Aramis gave a slight nod of understanding.

Porthos asked him, "Do you think you could try a little broth? You have eaten next to nothing for a very long time now, and your body needs nourishment to continue to heal. You know that better than anyone. You tell us that when you're takig care of us."

Aramis didn't know if his stomach was going to rebel or not, but he gave a little nod, saying softly, "I will try, Porthos."

Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "You're going to be all right, Aramis. And you take it slow. I know you hate being on enforced bed rest, but we came too close this time to losing you."

"You want anything, just ask, Aramis," d'Artagnan chimed in. "We will be more than happy to be your maids for a while," sharing a grin with his brothers.

"Aramis, all we desire is for your return to full health again," Athos added. Seeing how exhausted Aramis already was, he added, "Just try to have some broth and some water, and then you can sleep for as long as you like, brother."

Jehanne came down the stairs a moment later, hoping to find her patient awake, and carrying a pot of freshly-made chicken broth. It was as though she and Aramis' brothers were thinking alike. The timing was striking.

Athos spoon-fed his brother, much to Aramis' embarrassment. He knew he couldn't handle the normal movements of eating yet, but it still didn't stop him from feeling that way. He didn't want to hurt his brothers' feelings, though, so he submitted quietly.

He wasn't able to eat very much yet, but even the little he did manage was more than he had consumed in a long time.

They got him to drink a little more water, but stopped trying any more when he began nodding his head in exhaustion.

Laying him gently back down and covering him with a couple of blankets against the coolness of the cellar, they just sat in silent joy at having his life spared. They could so easily have lost him, and they were incredibly grateful that he was alive.

.


	37. Chapter 37

The next time Aramis woke up, Porthos was over at the fireplace getting it stoked up. Since Aramis wasn't in a position to see it or Porthos where he was, and since it was otherwise rather dark in the room, Aramis thought, 'Where did they go? Did those men...'  
As the newly-started fire began to light the room, Porthos saw that Aramis was awake, his eyes darting here and there around the room as if he was searching for something…or someone. But as soon as the room was illuminated and he spied Porthos, he almost visibly calmed down. 'He thought we left him alone,' Porthos surmised, 'or he thought he was back in that pit because of the darkness'.  
Sad that the ordeal still caused his brother unease and fear, Porthos resolved to make sure the fire was kept fully going at all times.  
Porthos came over and sat down next to the bed, asking him, "You up to trying some more food? You're skin and bones, mon ami.  
Aramis nodded, and Porthos took off upstairs to see what Jehanne might have available. He no sooner left than Aramis dozed off again. Athos came to sit with Aramis.  
'He is so pale, so thin,' Athos thought. 'He is so weak. We need to try harder to get him to eat more. ' It was a little less difficult to give him water, as it was easier for him to take.  
'We need to get a message to Treville,' he thought. 'The man has to be wondering what happened, at this point. Maybe Jehanne's husband could find someone in the nearest village that would take a message to Paris. We just need to wait until he himself gets back to ask him.'  
Porthos brought back enough chicken soup for each of them, and when Aramis awoke again,they sat down around the bedside to enjoy it. They all noticed that Aramis ate almost his whole bowl for the first time. It seemed to make a difference having them all doing as he was doing.  
After they were finished, his brothers regaled Aramis with the happenings at the garrison while he was gone. He seemed to enjoy hearing about all his comrades, even though he gradually grew more drowsy, and finally fell asleep after hearing that Serge had to do some detective work to discover who had been snitching food from kitchen.

"That's the longest he's stayed awake since we got him back," Porthos said with a big smile. "Tomorrow, we need to ask Jehanne if she can make a dessert for him, maybe something with apples. You know his sweet tooth."

"Yes, and we know yours as well, brother," Athos teased him, and d'Artagnan gave Porthos' shoulder a friendly hit.

They all enjoyed a moment of lightheartedness after having been much too close to tragedy. Their laughter was quiet, out of deference to their sleeping brother. But they were now once again feeling they were on the road , instead of the rocky one of sleeplessness, worry and panic. It was a good night.

It wasn't until several nights later that Denis, Jehanne's husband came home again, having at last concluded his business in Paris.

He came downstairs to see how his guests were faring, and expressed happiness that Aramis seemed to have pulled away from death's door.

Athos took him aside before he began to once more ascend the stairs. "A word with you, monsieur?"

Denis turned back to ask, "How may I help you?"

"We wondered if we could impose upon you once more to do us a favor?"

"And what might that be?" Denis asked, curious now.

"We were hoping that you might go into the nearest village and inquire if there would be someone to take a message to our captain in Paris," Athos told him.

Denis looked thoughtful as he paused a moment. "It would have to be someone who could be trusted with keeping the matter confidential," Denis said. "I came through the village before I arrived home, and heard tales of men asking questions about missing Musketeers. The men were not gentle with their questioning, either."

"We will leave the choice of the right man to you, monsieur. You know the people in this area far better than any of us."

"I have an idea of who to go to for this assignment. I will let you know. Good night, monsieurs."  
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Jehanne came to examine Aramis again bright and early the next morning, just as her husband was leaving on Athos' request.

She was very delicate in her examination, but they could all see Aramis wincing in pain when he touched his side. She saw their concern, and told them, "Nothing new is wrong. It's just that particular wound has been forcibly opened more than once, and as a result, it's taking longer to heal. But it is healing," she emphasized the last sentence, to their immense relief.

Athos took her aside after she had finished, and asked her, "Should we be assisting him to sit up, and then stand?"

She shook her head. "No, let him have a few days more rest first. It takes time to recover from the trauma he was put through. He is barely able to lift his arms yet. Go slow, Athos," she concluded, with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

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Denis headed for the village the next morning.

When he reached the village, he headed for its only tavern, fairly sure he would find the man he had told Athos would be good for his errand.  
A slight, middle-aged man, tawny-headed, dressed in farmer's clothes, sat in the very back seat of the tavern.

Denis looked around. Only two others were even in the place this early in the morning, one occupying the other table against the back wall. Denis paid him no mind, intent on finishing his errand and hurrying back to his home.

As he had suspected, Henri needed the money and quickly agreed to do the errand. Denis heaved a sigh of relief as he left the table and exited the tavern. He thought he might have enough time to get most of the day's planting done if he hurried.

When he reached the right end of the tavern, though, he was suddenly grabbed and yanked around the corner of the building, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

"Where are the Musketeers?" a low, growling voice demanded of him.

 _ **Sorry about the little cliffhanger!**_

 _ **I may have another piece done by tomorrow or Tuesday, if all goes well. You never know, though, when taking care of a very active 1 1/2 year old!**_

 _ **Enjoy! And as always, thanks so much for reading, reviewing, following.**_


	38. Chapter 38

Next morning, Aramis' brothers were suddenly awakened by a loud thump. Three pairs of eyes turned immediately towards Aramis, then raced across the room to his bedside.

He was lying in a tangle on the floor, his blanket twisted around his legs. He wasn't moving.

Porthos, who was the first to reach him, turned him over, finding his eyes closed.

"Aramis!" he softly called him, and heard a groan from his brother.

Without further ado, Porthos gathered him up in his arms and laid him down again on his bed, Athos and d'Artagnan untangling his legs from the blanket.

Porthos asked him, "What happened, Aramis?"

"Thirsty."

"We would have brought you water, Aramis," Athos told him.

Aramis looked away. "I…I'm a man. I…should be able to get water for myself."

"Aramis, you are not well enough yet. Jehanne does not want us even attempting to assist you in sitting up yet," the warmth in Athos's voice reflecting how much he cared about his brother.

Aramis, still looking away, spoke again so softly, they could barely hear him. "I'm not a baby."

Porthos answered, "Aramis, do you remember when that thug broke my leg a few years ago? You wouldn't let me do anything, because you said you wanted my leg to heal properly."

D'Artagnan followed. "Remember when I came down with a cold that turned into pneumonia? You were an absolute mother hen, insisting on being at my beck and call for anything I needed."

Aramis had gone very quiet now, listening intently to every word.

"Aramis, we do for each other because we are brothers who love and care about each other. You do know you are the most adamant of any of us when it comes to either end of an injury or illness? When we are sick or injured you enforce a strict bedrest, running yourself ragged getting things for us. But when you yourself are ill or injured, we sometimes consider tying you to your bed to keep you still enough to heal."

By now, a small smile was forming on Aramis' face. He couldn't deny that they were accurately describing his medic and patient modes. How could he help but love his brothers even more for the care and attention they had been giving him? And he had nearly further injured himself because he was too proud to ask for assistance.

They could see that their words had broken through. Porthos quietly asked him, "Would you still like some water?" On receiving a small nod, he rose to get it for him.

D'Artagnan then asked him, "Is there anything else you require right now?"

On receiving a slight shake of Aramis' head, Athos sat down at his bedside with a book. D'Artagnan went upstairs to see if Jehanne had made breakfast yet, while Porthos assisted Aramis with his drink, the marksman's limbs still weakened from his captivity.

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Jehanne came down a little later. Her face looked worried even before she spoke

"Denis never returned from the village last night. That has never happened before." She was near tears as she told them.

All of the Musketeers looked from her to each other, their concern matching hers. They hoped they had not brought trouble to this dear couple who had taken them in and given them such kind treatment.

"Let us hope he only had a slight delay of some kind and will return to you today," Athos said to her.

They all hated not being able to just head into town and investigate, but the very real possibility that they could draw Aramis' kidnappers down on Aramis or Jehanne prevented them. The gang could even have had a watch on the house since they had searched it several days previously, and one of them appearing outside could signal an attack that could very well be deadly. They fervently hoped Athos' words to Jehanne would turn out to indeed be the truth.

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Denis gradually returned to consciousness, and almost wished he hadn't. Only one eye would open, the other blackened and swollen from the nearly continuous beatings he had endured since he had been forcibly brought to wherever this building was the previous evening.

His wrists and ankles were bound tightly, and he was gagged. The only times it had been removed being when they had come to interrogate him some more.

He had borne it as well as he could, determined not to reveal his name or where he lived. If he could help it. He would not give them any information. .He didn't want to endanger his wife or the Musketeers. He would rather lose his own life instead.

If he could at least hold out until the Musketeers' message had been delivered, help would be on its way to his house. He fervently prayed for this as he heard booted feet returning.

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At about the same time, Charles, who had accepted the errand described by Denis, arrived at the garrison. The men at the gates, looking the man over, were about to refuse to summon their captain to talk to a man in poor farmer's clothes.

Charles, correctly reading their thoughts on their faces, without further ado, raised his voice to a bellow, shouting out Treville's name.

After about the third time he called, Treville appeared outside his office door, seeing his men restraining a farmer at the gates. Not knowing what was going on, he called out, "What's going on?"

"We were just about to send this one on his way, Captain," one of the guards responded.

Treville was just about to turn around and go back into his office, stopping in his tracks when he heard, "I have a message from Athos," getting Treville's full attention now. He motioned for the men to let go of him and bring him up to his office.

When he had closed the door of his office on his men's curious faces, Treville asked, "How do you know Athos?"

"I was asked to bring you a message by another farmer in our valley. He said if I had any problems in trying to see you I was to give Athos' name."

Treville, intrigued now and hoping for answers as to where his missing Inseparables might be, asked, "And what is this message?"

Pulling a paper from his pocket, he handed it to Treville, not being able to read himself.

Treville read, 'Captain. Found Aramis. Took shelter. Man delivering message can lead you to us. Aramis' kidnappers, the hooded men, very close by. Looking for us. Athos.'

Treville folded the note, put it in his pocket, and turned once again to the farmer.

"What is your name, man?"

"Charles, sir."

"Charles, in one hour we leave. You will lead us to our missing men."

Turning on his heel, he strode to the door. Opening it, he shouted instructions to the guards about men, weapons, horses and supplies to be in the courtyard in one hour.

When that hour was up, Charles found himself in the midst of a group of heavily-armed Musketeers led by Treville, galloping out of the gates he had just come through an hour before.

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Denis had endured still another beating without giving them any information. Incensed, Mattieu had turned to one of his men, instructing him to "bring the whip."

It was a moment afterward when another of his men arrived to tell him, "We got some information out of somebody who was at the tavern in the village last night. He took some persuading," the look on his face indicating what kind of persuading. "This one," indicating their prisoner, owns that farm where that uppity woman lives...the one who got in your face when we…visited her."

Denis' heart froze. They knew now! And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. His life, his heart-he was nothing without her in his life. He began to pray harder than he had ever done before to protect her. And to protect the Musketeers.


	39. Chapter 39

Very early next morning, everyone was asleep when Jehanne flung open the door and began racing down the steps.

"They're here! They have Denis! Oh, please help!" tears streaming down her face.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan leaped to thelr feet, already reaching for their weapons.

"How many, Madame?" Athos asked.

"I don't know," she answered. "I just saw Denis being held by two men. His face was all bloody. One of the men had a gun pointed at his head!"

Athos,.speaking to her in a calm, soft voice, the exact opposite of the emotions raging inside of him, said to her, "Madame, will you please take care of our brother? We will deal with the situation, but no matter what you hear, do not come up the stairs. Do you understand?"

Nodding mutely, Jehanne slowly moved across to Aramis, who had not stirred while they were speaking, and sat down at the edge of the bed. She took his hand in hers, head bowed and tears continuing to flow.

The Musketeers headed up the steps, and as they approached the door, drew their pistols. Each also carried a musket under their other arm. Because of the size of their enemy, they had brought with them several extra firearms when they had gone in search of Aramis, and now they were extremely glad they had done so.

Moving swiftly across the main room of the house, Athos dropped down under the front window, d'Artagnan under the one facing east, and Porthos under the window in the back door, of the kitchen attached to the living room, the two rooms actually one large area.

Athos could see the group of men standing at some distance from the house, Denis in their midst, held securely with a gun aimed at his head. He did not look good.

"Woman, let us in or your husband will be killed before your eyes!" Mattieu threatened.

"Surrender, and you will not be killed," Athos responded. There was a moment of silence, their attackers surprised at the different voice now coming from the house.

"You will never leave that house alive!" Mattieu retorted.

Silence reigned for several moments. Then, Mattieu again shouted, "Woman, your husband is a dead man," assuming Jehanne was with the Musketeers and could hear him. "After we kill him and the Musketeers, you don't want to know the fun we will have…"

He got no further, as an enraged Denis somehow found the strength to swing his bound hands at one of the men restraining him. Mattieu, seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, grabbed and stabbed the distraught farmer, who crumpled to the ground.

This distraction gave the Musketeers the opportunity they needed and they all fired at once, three men dropping almost simultaneously.

Mattieu, however, angry with himself for letting himself be distracted, signaled to his men, all of them beginning to move rapidly towards the house.

The Musketeers took out three more men in deadly succession, but the rest of them reached the house.

Drawing their swords and main gauches, the Musketeers prepared to defend themselves, and Aramis and Jehanne belowstairs. They were determined to be an impenetrable barrier to keep them safe.

Once the invaders were inside the door, fighting became brutal and intense. No longer having room for using their swords, both sides resorted to their fists and unsheathed their main gauches in a deadly array of blades.

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In the cellar, Jehanne began to hear faint sounds of metal hitting metal abovestairs. She was a brave woman, but she knew her husband was helpless and held by those very evil men, and the injured Musketeer was lying defenseless and asleep beside her.

Even as these thoughts ran through her head, she felt him stirring beside her. Turning, she found sleepy eyes regarding her.

His face started to change to confusion as the sounds of the fighting began to penetrate his sleep-muddled senses. Confusion turned to concern as he began to realize what he was hearing, and then noticed that none of his brothers were within his sight.

Turning to Jehanne, he asked in a voice that still was scratchy from little use, "Pistol?"

Without a word about his not being in any shape to be able to do anything, she pulled out an old pistol from under her skirts, handing it to him.

His arm shook as he took it, and he hesitated a moment. Then, his arm steadied out as he aimed the pistol at the door, still laying almost flat on his back. She had witnessed a demonstration of pure will on Aramis' part, of that she was sure.

They waited, not knowing when or if the door above them would open, and would it be friend or foe?

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Mattieu had sent all but himself and one of his men into the house, planning on the ensuing fighting to distract and keep the Musketeers busy. He and his man would enter through the back, now that the huge Musketeer had been pulled into the fighting, as well.

As they slipped inside the house, he thought, 'this is almost too easy'. Now to find where his former captive was hidden.

He headed toward the back of the house, his silent shadow right behind him.

They went through each room, finding nothing. Snarling, he thought to himself, 'those brothers of his are fighting so fiercely. There has to be something…or someone in this house they're protecting,' beginning to go through the rooms a second time.

And then he spied it. A bookcase turned sideways from the wall, exposing a small lever and tiny piece of torn yellow cloth caught at the wall's base, Jehanne having been too worried and frantic to remember to pull the bookcase back, as she normally had been doing.

Mattieu's face split into a nasty grin. 'This is going to be like hunting a bird with no wings,' he thought, his main gauche now in one hand and pistol in the other. He motioned for his man to lead the way.

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Jehanne was a calm, take-charge woman, but fearing she might have lost the man she loved, and with the uproar of fighting above her head, she didn't know what she could do.

Aramis, his condition preventing him from being able to do much else than try to keep his aim steady on the door, had begun silently praying for his brothers and for this kind woman who had helped them so much despite possibly risking danger.

He didn't know how long he could keep his aim with the pistol. Even now, his arm was beginning to slightly tremble again.

And then, he heard it. Someone was lifting the lever! Was it friend or foe?

Determination in weary eyes, he watched as the door pulled back. A strange man, pointing a pistol, appeared in the doorway. As he took a step down the stairs, Aramis fired.

The man clutched at his breast before collapsing.

Aramis barely had time to sigh in relief when a voice, one he had dreaded ever hearing again, spoke as he appeared now in the doorway, "No bullets left, Musketeer?" a gun aimed steadily at the prone Musketeer's head as he slowly came down the steps.

 _ **As I've been doing recently, I will probably have another piece tomorrow or Tuesday, if all goes well. If you have time, reviews are always very much appreciated!**_


	40. Chapter 40

The Musketeers had taken out at least nine of the men between them, and their opponents were slowly thinning out. The fighting was still quite fierce, Mattieu having hired men with very good skills.

Athos, fighting against two men, threw a nasty punch at one of them, the other got the receiving end of his main gauche. Both men went down, and he took a hasty look around before more of them reached him. What he saw was two men heading down the hallway. 'Aramis!' he thought. 'And Jehanne!' But before he was able to follow after and engage them, he had two new opponents coming at to dispatch them and go to his brother, they proved his most worthy opponents so far, and kept him focused on them.

While fighting, he raised his voice and called, "Porthos! D'Artagnan! Aramis has trouble headed for him!" hoping that one of the three of them could win free and head back that way. He also hoped the men who had gone down that hallway would come across nothing that could give them a clue that anyone was concealed in another cellar.

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Aramis, now without any means to defend himself and Jehanne, watched Mattieu come down the stairs, his face smug, looking at his victim lying on the bed with no way of fending him off.

Jehanne, seeing the man's focus on Aramis and finding her voice again, pleaded, "Please, whoever you are, have mercy! He is badly injured. We have done nothing to you. Please, just go!"

Mattieu, his gaze never leaving Aramis, didn't even bother to respond, seeing in her only a mere woman who couldn't fight or impede his intentions. He reached the end of the steps and moved swiftly across the room to the bed.

Aramis couldn't help the fear he felt again as this man, who had nearly killed him before, once more loomed above him. He remained silent, knowing from painful experience that words would make no progress in halting the man's intentions. But he would fight him however he was able, hoping he could somehow kick or hit him and maybe have luck shine on him in the attempt.

Mattieu was the type of man who immensely enjoyed being the bully he was. His body was close to the size of Porthos and he used it to intimidate, just as his words did.

"Time to return you to the pit your friends stole you from. You won't last long now, your body is too weak and battered to stand up to my 'visits' for very long. Your brothers won't be rescuing you again. They are being overwhelmed with sheer numbers by my men. Let's go!" bending over to grab him and pull him up.

Aramis kicked out with his legs, landing a hit to Mattieu's stomach, but it was like a fly buzzing around a bull. Mattieu barely reflected any notice of the kick, laughing it the Musketeer when Aramis desperately tried to hit him with his fist, Mattieu swung his own at Aramis' head. The fist connected with Aramis' forehead and all the fight went out of him, now only-semiconscious.

Jehanne screamed then at the cruelty of the unknown man, again begging him for mercy. He still paid no attention to her, his respect for women non-existent.

Mattieu swung the Musketeer roughly over his shoulder, turning again to the stairs. Aramis' upper body hung limply over Mattieu's shoulder, bouncing as the man began to climb the steps. Reaching the upper landing, he slammed the door shut on Jehanne's piteous screams.

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The Musketeers had finally triumphed over the seeming horde of men who had come at them. Turning almost as one, their focus was on heading down the hallway to the cellar, hoping the two men Athos had seen had not found the hidden cellar. But they had not even reached the hallway when they were halted in their tracks.

Mattieu, who saw them coming, dropped Aramis down in front of him, his dagger coming to rest at the helpless man's throat."Back off and clear my way to the door, or say goodbye to your friend!" he snarled.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan stopped in their tracks, not wanting to give the man any reason to use the wicked-looking knife on their brother's exposed neck.

"If you harm him again, there will be no place you can escape to that we will not find you. You are a dead man!" Athos told him, the full force of his aristocratic upbringing coming into play in his words.

"I'm afraid you've got it wrong again, Musketeer,'" Mattieu fired right back. "This one," shaking Aramis' limp body for emphasis, "is the dead man. If you even someday find him again, his body will be cold in death."

All three Musketeers heard the utter ruthlessness in the man's voice. A professional killer, the man would execute their brother without a sliver of remorse, the only thing present in his mind the promise of riches. They had sometimes run across this type of criminal, almost reveling in their capacity for intimidation, cruelty and killing. They knew they needed to be cautious. He could just as easily kill Aramis now, and enjoy the reactions he would get from them.

Athos spoke up clearly again, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, as he said, "What I said was a statement of fact. We will not oppose your path to the door. But if we do find that you have taken the life of our brother, no power on earth will hinder our vengeance."

He knew, as they all did, that showing panic or fear to a man of this type would just increase the belligerence. But this type of man recognized toughness when they met it in others, and recognized they meant exactly what they promised.

The Musketeers opened a path to the door, wishing fervently that they didn't have to. They watched helplessly as Mattieu walked through the path they had made, the dagger held tight in his grasp never wavering. He manhandled Aramis through the door, whistling for the horse he must have trained to respond. Then, he slammed the door shut behind him.

They, as one, flew towards the door. But before they could reach it, the ominous sound of a gunshot came from outside.


	41. Chapter 41

Aramis was still groggy from being hit. It took him a few moments to grow more aware of what was happening.

He realized he was flung over the shoulder of the man who had made his life a living nightmare. He could now feel a sharp blade against his neck. He heard the man speak and realized his brothers were there.

He desperately wanted to call out to them, but the threat of his throat being cut prevented him. He didn't dare move either.

The man was moving again, his brothers obviously not being able to attempt anything for fear of the man killing him.

He could now feel fresh air on his heated skin. They were outside? Where were they going?

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Mattieu strode rapidly through the front door of the house. His confidence was soaring. 'Those high and mighty Musketeers couldn't do a thing,' he thought. 'Not with their precious brother in my grasp'. He continued, 'It's amazing how a simple little blade can control otherwise fearless men', chuckling to himself.

A moment later, however, he froze. Coming over the rise of land in the distance was a group of riders, and he swore as he recognized the blue cloaks blowing in the breeze.

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Aramis felt the man's movement halt, also picking up on a sudden tenseness in the man under him.

'Something is happening', he thought. 'Something he doesn't like'.

Then, he heard it. The thunder of hooves, which stopped some distance away. He didn't know who they were, but just the tenseness he felt in the man's shoulders told him they weren't men he had wanted or expected to see.

Aramis gathered up any slight reserve of strength left in him to attempt to free himself. If this man succeeded in taking him off somewhere, he knew he was a dead man anyway.

And then, a shot rang out. It didn't hit either of them, but Mattieu, while reaching for his pistol, relaxed his grip on the knife slightly.

That was all Aramis needed. He swung his elbow at the man's throat. Even though it didn't have anything near the strength behind it that he would normally have, his luck held when his elbow connected on the man's Adam's apple, the pain causing him to drop both the knife and his grip on Aramis.

Aramis, what little strength he had having been expended, couldn't prevent his sharp drop to the hard ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Mattieu, now no longer having a shield to protect him, started to lift his arm to fire his pistol, only to hear several shots ring out. One hit him in the upper part of his gun hand, the pistol falling out of his grasp as he lifted his other hand to try and stop the blood pouring out.

Realizing he would be caught if he didn't move quickly, he bolted for his horse, zigzagging to try to prevent another bullet from hitting him.

Reaching his horse, he leaped on it's bare back, having always been a superb horseman. He kept moving now, utilizing a a trick taught him by some gypsy men many years before.

He suddenly dropped out of the saddle to the side of the horse away from the riders, holding himself against the horse's body and kicking it to urge it to gallop.

Bullets continued to fly, one grazing the horse's backside. The animal let out a shrill whinny, but moved even faster. Mattieu's foot urged it around the corner of the house and out of sight of the riders. Pulling himself back to an upright position, horse and rider thundered off to safety.

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Hearing the guns and then a horse galloping very near the front of the house, Athos slowly opened the door.

There was no sign of the big man. Then he saw Aramis lying face down on the ground and his heart clenched with fear at the sight.

Moving through the door, his eyes finally caught sight of the riders on the hill, beginning to move rapidly towards them. So had his brothers, as d'Artagnan shout out jubilantly, 'Captain!

It was indeed Treville, followed by seven of his men, now approaching the house. The Captain's face reflected grave concern when he saw Aramis still lying face-down on the ground.

Dismounting rapidly, he strode to where Athos was now gently turning his brother over. He beheld closed eyes, and moved his hand to Aramis' neck rapidly to check for a pulse. He and his brothers had not been able to see what had been happening, but Treville had.

Just as Trevillr laid a hand on Athos' shoulder and said quietly, "He was not wounded, Athos. He might….," stopping as they both saw Aramis' eyes opening.

Treville spoke to him, saying, "You still have a wicked elbow, Aramis," confusing Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, but drawing a smile from Aramis.

Seeing the non-comprehension on the countenances of the other Inseparables, he explained. "We were able to get a couple of shots at his kidnapper because of Aramis here," smiling fondly down at the Musketeer still prone on the ground. He swung his elbow into the man's neck. Rather a good hit, too!"

Aramis spoke up quietly, "It was the only thing I was able to do in my position, Captain."

"Let's get you back in the house and onto a bed," Porthos said, suiting his action to his words and gathering up his brother into his arms to carry back inside.

Athos spoke up then. "We need to retrieve Denis' body so that Jehanne could properly have laid to rest. D'Artagnan and I will go and get him and meet you back inside."

But when they reached the place they had seen held at, the ground was bare. There was no body, no blood, nothing.

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 _ **As I have been doing lately, the next chapter will probably be ready and posted either tomorrow or Tuesday. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think if you have a few minutes.**_


	42. Chapter 42

Porthos already noticed a difference in Aramis in the short time it took to carry him inside the house. Gone was the haunted look in his eyes, something they had all remarked on since they had rescued him.

Porthos figured it had to do with the jab his brother had taken at his captor. It had to have felt very good both to assist in his own rescue, and to give a little back to the man who had brutalized him so badly.

Porthos heart had nearly stopped when he had seen the man holding a wicked-looking dagger at his brother's throat. He had never felt so helpless in his life to have had to remain motionless while the man roughly maneuvered Aramis out the door. He thought then that he might very well never see his best friend alive again.

If it was the last thing he ever did, he swore to himself that the man who had very nearly killed Aramis twice now would not be long for this world.

Looking down at the dear friend he held in his arms, he saw that the events he had just been through had exhausted his brother. Sleepy eyes were beginning to close. But Aramis this time was falling asleep with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

Crossing the room to the cellar door, he saw Jehanne emerging from below, a Jehanne he had never seen before.

Gone was the beautiful smile which usually lit up her face. Her whole body was listless, like it no longer had meaning. Sadness enveloped her. Her love had been taken from her, and it was tearing at her heart.

Even so, when she saw Porthos carrying a totally limp Aramis in her arms, she cried out. "Oh, please God, no! They didn't take his life, too?"

Porthos hastened to reassure her. "No, no. He's just asleep. Wore himself out, this one."

She shook herself, as if reminding herself of her responsibilities. " Bring him downstairs. He will need something nourishing when he awakens," and hurried down the hallway, headed for the kitchen.

Porthos marvelled at her ability to regain her composure so quickly. 'That is one strong lady. With a heart of gold.'

He laid Aramis down, and fussed over him like a giant mother hen, plumping his pillow and pulling the blanket up under his chin against the coolness of the underground room. Then, he sat down and took up his brother's hand.

'Rest easy now, mon ami. That man may have escaped this time, but I swear he will be a dead man if he comes near you again.'

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Athos, d'Artagnan and Treville's band started a search of the area. They started from the last place they had seen him, the top of the hill where he had been stabbed. They worked their way down the incline, looking for any signs of his progress. They had no clear idea of how badly Denis had been stabbed, but they figured he couldn't have got very far being injured.

They had almost run out of places to look, when d'Artagnan laid his hand on Athos' forearm, saying, "Look!"

There, a short distance away, lying under a bush was Denis. From the stillness of his body, both Musketeers were fearful that they had found him too late-that he was dead.

When they reached the body and knelt down on each side of him, however, they could see the rise and fall of his chest. He was alive!

They uncurled his body and stretched it out to get a look at how badly the stab wound was. His body was a mass of black and blue. He obviously had been beaten to find out where Aramis was. But how had these men known to question him in the first place?

The stab wound was low on his right side, still bleeding sluggishly. D'Artagnan tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt, and they placed a square of it over the wound, wrapping another piece around his torso to hold it in place.

Athos then took Denis' upper body while d'Artagnan took his legs. Carrying him between the two of them, they headed back to the house.

Treville's saw them and rode up asking, "Denis?"

When they both nodded, he continued, "Don't let me interrupt you. Take him on inside."

Turning to Athos, he said, "I need a full report from you once he has been taken care of."

Nodding, Athos and d'Artagnan continued on their way, carrying the man who may still not make it after being the one to send the messenger to Treville. Would he lose his life after helping to save theirs?

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Jehanne, emerging from the kitchen, glanced out the front window. The sight that met her eyes drew a gasp from her, as she dropped the bowl of soup on the floor in her haste to run outside.

Flying across the grass, she was quite out of breath when she reached Athos and d'Artagnan.

Reaching them she halted, fearful to ask the question now. "Is he…," and she couldn't finish, tears falling down her face.

"Madame, your husband lives," Athos answered

her.

All the breath went out of her in a rush at his words. Dropping to her knees, she took his head tenderly in her hands and bending over him, rained feathery kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, all the whole whispering his name as her tears fell. Joyful tears this time. She was so overcome with happiness, and smiled through the tears at the two Musketeers.

"He lives! He lives!" she said over and over. " My love is given back to me. Thanks be to God!"

After a few moments, she tried to compose herself as she said, "Please. Bring him inside. I need to take care of my Denis."

She walked alongside them as they carried him in, his limp hand clasped tightly in hers, as if fearful that if she didn't keep physical contact with him, she might somehow lose him again. Her eyes never left his face, the light of love shining anew in them.


	43. Chapter 43

Treville no sooner stepped inside Denis and Jehanne's house than he saw d'Artagnan waiting for him.

"What in the world happened?" he asked immediately.

"D'Artagnan had assumed that Treville knew already, so the question surprised him.

Treville saw his reaction and said, "All I was told by the messenger was that you found Aramis, but also found trouble, and Aramis was hurt." Then, he repeated himself, "What happened?"

After d'Artagnan explained in more detail, Treville whistled as he shook his head. "Richelieu! I knew he was a man of few scruples, but even I thought he had lines he wouldn't cross. Apparently not after this."

Shaking his head again, he continued. "This big man who dragged Aramis out of the house. Do we know who he is?"

A quiet voice from a dark corner of the room spoke up. "He is my brother."

"Laurent," d'Artagnan exclaimed. "That was Mattieu?"

Laurent slowly nodded his head. "To my everlasting shame, yes. And the coward who resides in me hid from him in fear."

D'Artagnan didn't let him get any further. "You are not a coward, Laurent. Anyone who went through what you did at his hands as a child would have done the same. You risked your life rescuing me. You knew what kind of man Mattieu was, as well as the men he led, but your sense of right and wrong, and your compassion spoke much more loudly than anything Mattieu ever tried to drum into your head. You are a very good, caring man who I am proud to know."

Laurent was silent as d'Artagnan spoke, his head still lowered.

Treville walked over to his side, and stuck out his hand. Laurent looked at it, confused, and Treville spoke firmly, "I see no one in front of me except someone who rescued one of my men, even at the risk of his own, and knowing his brother would want to seek revenge someday. Know this, Laurent, if Mattieu ever shows his face as a threat to you, you will have the full force of my regiment on your side."

Laurent, speechless, hesitated a moment, then firmly grasped the Captain's hand. The smile he gave Treville was shy, but with a hint of confidence now shining through.

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Jehanne became both wife and nurse as soon as two of Treville's troop laid Denis down on their bed. She didn't care in the least that their sheets and blankets became soaked with her husband's blood within seconds. She set to work assessing the wound, then cleaning every bit of blood, dirt and debris from the wound area, all the while allowing one hand to keep straying to his cheek to caress it.

Rubbing her ointments into the wound, she then wrapped cloths as tightly as she dared around his torso.

She was already thinking he had a chance, after she saw exactly where the wound was and its condition. Her heart began to pound when she realized this.

"I will pull you through this, my love," she whispered in his ear, hoping he could somehow hear her words. She needed him to fight harder than he had ever fought in his his life-for himself, for her, for them.

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The next time Aramis awakened, he found all three of his brothers, plus the captain, range loosely around. He couldn't help himself. His smile appeared and grew. He felt so blessed to have them as his brothers and his captain.

"Feeling a little cocky with that 'killer elbow', are we?" Porthos teased him.

"How are you feeling, Aramis?" Treville asked, concern in his eyes.

And they heard it for the first time in what seemed like ages.

"I'm fine..."

He got no further as all three of his brothers took him to task at once.

"Aramis," the definite warning note coloring his words as Athos spoke.

"You are teasing us, aren't you?" d'Artagnan's words spoken in disbelief.

"You just slept for fifteen hours, Aramis," came Porthos next. "Have you seen your body lately? You are still scrawny from lack of food, your body is black and blue, riddled with cuts and gashes, and I'm not even going to regale you with the condition of the wound in your side. And you say…" Athos' voice softly but firmly called a halt to Porthos' tirade, well-intentioned as it was meant to be.

Athos had seen the smile gracing Aramis' face slowly fade away, leaving it full of hurt and confusion.

"Aramis," Athos gently began. "You have come so far in your recovery, for which we are very thankful. But you still have a long way yet to go. Do not try to get ahead of yourself, brother."

"We just don't want you to think you can overdo, like you always do when you are injured, "Porthos added, having seen Aramis' crest-fallen face, and now starting to feel guilty.

Aramis' eyes were traveling back and forth to the faces of the four men in front of him. His eyes were already getting heavy-lidded again, a by-product of the total lack of peaceful sleep he had endured

"Aramis," Treville spoke now. "We just want to make sure you heal well. We know you do not like to always be in bed. None of us do. But you need to follow the directions you give us and all your other patients. Rest is essential in healing. You know that better than we do."

Aramis nodded slowly, and was silent for several minutes. Then, no looking at any of them, he said softly, "I'm sorry. You..rescued me. And you have all taken..such good care of me. And I made..a joke, saying I was fine. I..feel better than I have since…."

"Aramis, it's all right. You don't have to explain. We just want you to be well again," Porthos said, feeling guilty that they had all jumped him.

Aramis had finally lost his battle to stay awake, though, and his eyelids had finally closed all the way. Porthos began fussing about him, adjusting the blankets, feeling his forehead to make sure no new temperature had crept in.

The others just smiled as they watched their gentle giant so quiet and tender with Aramis.


	44. Chapter 44

Aramis was gradually able to start sitting up in bed. Then, came the day he got to try standing up. He was so eager to do so that he got to his feet way too fast. Porthos, knowing his brother well, had been right at his elbow and caught him as the blood rushing to his head caused him to lose his balance.

Porthos wanted nothing more than to put him back into bed, but remembered the eagerness and hopefulness on his brother's face right before he had stood up. He didn't want to kill the joy, so he said, "How about we wait a couple of minutes and try again?"

The smile his brother gave him made him glad he did. Aramis was able to stand. Not for long as his body didn't have any strength in it yet, but the look of accomplishment on his face just made Porthos so happy.

Each day, he tried once in the morning and once later in the day, and was now able to walk slowly across the room. But Porthos put his foot down when he turned his back for a moment, and found out when he turned around that Aramis was on the second step heading out of the cellar.

"What did you think you were doing?" Porthos demanded. "Your balance isn't 100% yet, mon ami."

Even a mini-lecture from his brother couldn't keep the grin off Aramis' face, though. He was healing, and it felt so good. The sooner he was ready enough, the sooner they could start back to Paris.

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Denis was also healing. Jehanne's prognosis turned out to be correct.

The day he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking up into his wife's face lit by pure joy. After almost losing him, her Denis was again gazing into her eyes, the light of love shining in them.

All the Musketeers were happy for them. They had both done so much to help them, and now a potential tragedy had evolved into pure happiness for all involved.

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Mattieu set up a meeting with Richelieu as soon as he got back to Paris. He was very nervous to meet the prelate with the bad news he had to give him.

Mattieu's shoulder still ached, but he just shrugged it off. In his line of work, he had been wounded many times through the years. Unless the injuries caused him to lose consciousness, he persisted in carrying on with whatever project he was involved with at the time.

They met in the underground location they so often used. Richelieu showed up in a dramatic swish of his cape, something Mattieu always wondered if he did because he enjoyed the drama.

"So what has been happening? Is that Musketeer dead yet?"

This was the moment Mattieu had been dreading. Richelieu did not tolerate failure of any kind from those under him. Mattieu hesitated just a moment, but it was enough. It set off Richelieu's suspicious nature.

"He's not dead, is he? What has happened? How have you failed me?" Seeing Mattieu hesitate again, he demanded in a slightly raised voice, "Cat got your tongue? You are all bravado and swagger when everything is going well. WHAT HAPPENED?"

Richelieu generally didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. With his position and power, he had people subserviant and groveling at his feet, just as he wanted and expected.

Mattieu took a deep breath and started. "Everything was going so well. That Musketeer was getting weaker and weaker. But…" here he hesitated again.

"Speak, man! I don't have all day to spend on the likes of you!"

Mattieu said, "It was those friends of his, the Musketeers. How they found out where he was I will never know. They took him away, and we searched for quite a spell before we got some information on where they were hiding out. A local couple took them in. The wife was a nurse who healed …"

Richelieu cut him off. I don't need a detailed narrative. What happened?"

"We found them. I had recaptured the Musketeer, but those brothers of his…

"Rescued him. You failed yet again. I have half a notion to have you thrown into the Chatelet for your failure, but I've decided to give you one last chance. Fail me this time, and the Chatelet will be a temporary abode while you await execution, by whatever means I choose to hand out. I expect to hear of your coming success-or else."

Mattieu was a tough man, but he shuddered as Richelieu stalked by him and disappeared in the surrounding murky atmosphere.

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Finally, the day arrived for the Musketeers to leave for Paris. Aramis had a little excitement bubbling within him. He had been away from the city he loved, the Garrison which was his home, and his other Co in the regiment.

He had been ready to go for days, but his brothers wouldn't hear of it until they deemed him ready enough to make the trip.

They took their leave of Denis and Jehanne, the former back to almost full health, thanks to the loving care of Jehanne. Even so, she kept an eagle eye on him to make sure he didn't overtax himself.

He took her hand and raised it, pressing a kiss to the back of it, as if she was one of the finest Court ladies, bedecked in satin and lace and dripping with jewels.

She blushed, looking down at the ground completely flustered.

"Madame…Jehanne, if I may, how do I thank you adequately for saving my life? If not for you, I would not now be standing here about to ride back to our home in Paris. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, my beautiful angel." And he kissed her hand once more, Jehanne completely flustered and turning an even deeper red.

Aramis' brothers had seen these reactions from women in every level of society, and it never ceased to amaze them. They just wished they could borrow some of it on occasion. There didn't seem to be a woman who was immune to his charm.

"Come on, Aramis. I think the Parisian ladies are waiting for you," Porthos teased.

He turned and found them all with grins on their faces. Shrugging, he climbed into his saddle, and they took off for Paris.


	45. Chapter 45

Treville and Athos had planned out their journey back to Paris the day before they left, making it a two-day journey instead of one long one. Treville had sent one of his men ahead to secure rooms at an inn for the overnight stay on day one, because they all knew Aramis would insist that he was 'just fine' otherwise. This way, the decision was already made.

After a comfortable night, they reached Paris shortly before midday. All of them, and especially Aramis, were so glad to enter the gates of the city they loved.

Treville took d'Artagnan and most of his men and rode on ahead, Treville wanting to send d'Artagnan to the palace to make sure Dr. Lemay was present to double-check how Aramis' health was as soon as possible as a precaution. With his medical knowledge, Aramis was usually able to disarm the other physicians they had used in the past, but he didn't get away with it as easily when it was Lemay. It wasn't that Aramis' knowledge was inaccurate, but that he could use it to convince the other physicians that he was in better shape than he actually was.

The Inseparables and the other two men Treville had assigned to them for the ride through Paris were enjoying the sights and sounds of Paris, Porthos insisting on their stopping at Aramis' favorite apple vendor to get a delicious red treat for his brother.

It was right after they had all remounted that it happened. From three different directions, mounted men erupted from side streets, market day shoppers screaming as the riders brutally pushed their way towards their apparent target, the group of Musketeers.

Athos ordered everyone to encircle Aramis, who was ignored when he vehemently protested that he was perfectly capable of handling his guns and sword.

The group attacking them outnumbered them almost two to one, but the Musketeers weren't intimidated by the numbers. They fought with the ferocity and skill they were famous for, driving their attackers back several times. By now, everyone had dismounted for more room to maneuver with their weapons.

But sheer numbers finally created a small opening, a giant of a man hurtling himself through, heading straight for Aramis.

Athos, knowing who these men had to be after, intercepted the man, swinging his blue cloak at the man's face to give himself a second, then planting himself between the giant and his brother, blue eyes cold as a winter sky as he raised his sword and challenged his opponent.

Two of the man's companions, however, joined him, slowly forcing Athos backwards towards the side street. Athos realized too late their secondary plan, at the same time as he was bludgeoned on the back of his head and crumpled to the dirt.

The leader's two men dragged him out if sight, then a sharp whistle caused the others to back away into the same side streets from which they had first come.

The men who had accompanied Treville to retrieve the Inseparables started after them, but Porthos, who suddenly found himself in charge, called out, "Don't follow them! Some of you are wounded, we are outnumbered, and we are here to bring our brother back to the Garrison!"

They came back slowly and reluctantly, not wanting to just give up a fight.

Aramis, who hated being the reason, started to say, "I can make my own way," only to receive an ominous look from Porthos, who wasn't about to let him expose himself that way. Seeing the look he was receiving, Aramis knew better than to argue, so, still not liking their leaving Athos to who knows what fate, gave Porthos a stare in return that told his friend without words what he was thinking of his decision. Guilt over being the probable cause of Athos' being taken was tearing him up inside.

Porthos stayed close to Aramis' side as they began walking their horses the rest of the way to the garrison. Knowing his brother as he did, it would be just like Aramis to disregard his own condition and take off in an attempt to sacrifice himself for one of his brothers. He had done so when these same men had taken d'Artagnan, and look what had nearly happened to him. He wasn't about to let the thugs get their hands on him again. Not on his watch.

Aramis could feel his new-found energy slipping away from him now. Sure enough, it was like Porthos could read his mind, putting a supporting arm around his shoulders and leading him, not to his own horse, but to his brother's.

He started to protest, only to hear his friend say softly, "You're the medic, aren't you? Wouldn't you tell anyone else they were exhausted?"

Aramis, being Aramis, protested, "I'm not...," only to feel Porthos call out to one of the other men, "Bernard, lend a hand here, all right?"

Then, Porthos' arm left his shoulder, and someone else's replaced it. Aramis was nearly asleep by now. The day and a half he had spent in the saddle was by far the longest stint of activity he had endured since he had been rescued. It was no wonder his energy levels were depleted.

Whoever it was that Porthos had called over lifted him up into the saddle, and, feeling Porthos' massive chest behind him, he just laid his head back and was out like a light a moment later.

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Athos gradually began to climb his way back to consciousness, hammers going off in his head as he did so.

Before he was even able to open his eyes, he felt restrictions to his body's movements. It took him a few moments still to realize his wrists and ankles were encased in shackles, longer still before he felt them bring him up short if he attempted to move more than a few inches.

Finally prying open eyes that had felt glued shut, he saw that chains attached to his shackles were then attached at the other end to an iron ring in the wall. He wouldn't be getting out of here on his own, he dismally thought, having found from a few moments of trying that both chains and shackles were relatively new and seemed to have no weak links to work on.

The throbbing was still intense, so he laid his head carefully against the cold stone wall of the cell he was locked in. The Chatelet, he wondered? If it was, it was a part of it he had never seen before.

Richelieu. The man could have had him put anywhere. Red Guards controlled the prisons and jails of Paris, and not one of them had ever been a friend of the Musketeers.

He knew why he had been taken. He had realized it a split second before he had been hit over the head. He was to be bait, as d'Artagnan had been previously, to lure Aramis out where he could be retaken and killed. He had realized it just a moment too late, before he had been hit from behind.

They knew also from Aramis' reaction to d'Artagnan's kidnapping that his love for his brothers was the marksman's Achille's heel. Athos thought to himself bitterly, 'I may know it, but so far, there is not a thing I can do about it locked up in here.'

He had no sooner finished that thought than a key clattered, opening his cell door. The very large man they had previously been fighting entered, flanked by two others, fingering their pistols as they came through the door.

'Does he seriously think this intimidation will do any good', Athos thought. 'It may have worked with his brother, Laurent, for most of his life, but not on a seasoned Musketeer.'

Mattieu and his men stopped in front of Athos, but he almost smiled when he noticed the space they left between him and themselves. 'Not quite as fearless as they make themselves out to be'. If only he had his rapier in hand for a few seconds, was his following thought.

Slowly lifting his head, he injected every bit of his aristocratic lineage into the face he showed them, eyes as cold as ice staring up at them.

"I was told you were a former comte," Mattieu said. "Much good it will do you here."

"I may be here for now, but you will someday meet me again, and wish you had not," Athos drawled the words slowly and deliberately, never blinking, not an ounce of the fear Mattieu was used to instilling in people present on the face of the prisoner before him.

Mattieu shook himself, trying to rid himself of the very unfamiliar feeling of unease at Athos' words.

After a moment, he seemed to relax, staring down at his prisoner.

"I need something from you. Something recognizable. Get on your feet."

Athos didn't move a muscle. Mattieu, angered at not being obeyed by someone totally at his mercy, signalled to his two silent companions.

"Get him on his feet. Don't bother being polite to monsieur le comte."

Grabbing hold of Athos' arms, they yanked him to his feet, twisting his arms deliberately as they did so. Athos, despite himself, groaned from the sudden pain in his shoulders, as well as the increasing pain in his head. They held him up between them.

Mattieu moved closer, eyes slowing roaming over Athos from head to foot. Then, his eyes lit up.

"Perfect!" he said, reaching out and yanking Athos' scarf from around his neck. "I'll bet that since this is around your neck, your brothers see it all the time. If they had any doubts that we had you before, they won't now."

Signalling to his men, they dropped him unceremoniously back to the floor, chains clanking as he landed. Groaning, he pulled himself back against the wall again, full of frustration at being a pawn in a deadly game with his brother's life on the line.

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Porthos had informed his captain of the encounter on the street, and of their attackers having taken Athos. Treville blanched at the thought of yet another of his men in this gang's grasp. He listened to the detailed account the big man gave him, and heard the fear in his otherwise totally fearless Musketeer's voice. He knew as well as Porthos that Aramis would give himself up in a minute if he could save one of his brothers from harm. At the moment, though, their hands were tied. They had no idea where they might be holding Athos.

Treville had stayed with Aramis while Lemay examined him, his brothers there as well. Lemay was shocked at what Aramis had been through. By the time Lemay was through, Aramis had fallen asleep, so Lemay could speak freely, knowing that had Aramis been awake, he would have tried to protest the rest the good doctor told them he needed to continue to take. Aramis, despite the fact that he was a medic, was the world's worst patient, not following advice he himself would give to others

Other than that, Lemay told them he was pleased at the marksman's healing progress. He told Treville he could assign him light tasks to build his strength back up, which was sure to please Aramis.

After Lemay left, Treville checked on the routines of the men in the garrison, then checked through any correspondence that had arrived while he was gone. Once everything was up to date, he had his horse saddled, heading for the palace as fast as possible though the Paris streets, determined to get to the bottom of Richelieu's dirty little game before any more harm could be done to his lieutenant.

The man sometimes acted as if he, Richelieu, was the King, and not Louis. This time he was going to confront the man in the presence of the head of Bourbon dynasty, and see if he could wriggle out of what he had been up to this time.

Riding through the streets of Paris, Treville tried to contain his anger at the man. When he thought of the trauma and pain Richelieu had caused Aramis to be put through, he personally wanted to bring the man's neck. And what might he be having done to Athos at this very moment?

Louis would listen to him, Treville vowed. He would have to strip Richelieu of his title and power. If Louis really wanted to see justice done, he would also have the Cardinal arrested and imprisoned in the Bastille. Treville already knew, though, that the King would never have Richelieu executed, as much as he deserved it. He knew Louis would never accept going that far.

Reaching the palace, he left his stallion in the care of the ever-present stableboy stationed out in front to make sure visiting nobility never had to cool their heels for long. As the boy led his horse away, Treville strode through the doors and began climbing the curving staircase, headed straight for Louis' suite of rooms on the second floor.

Almost reaching the doors, he just stopped a grimace from forming on his face as Louis' secretary, an obnoxious, self-important little man, stepped in front of him.

"I need to see both His Majesty and the Cardinal immediately," he told him.

"That would be impossible," the man said in his high nasal voice.

"I don't have time for this," Treville raised his voice slightly, fighting to hide his irritation.

"Your request is impossible, Captain Treville," the man said, dismissing as he started to turn away.

"Valmont," Treville tried once again, determined not to be turned away from his mission. "It is vastly important. His Majesty will thank you once he knows what this meeting entails."

"As I believe I already told you, Captain Treville, this meeting is impossible."

Angry and beyond frustrated, Treville asked, "Will you at least give me a reason why I am being refused?"

"I will give you two, Treville," the man said in clipped words of impatience, and dropping the use of Treville's title deliberately. "His Majesty is in deep mourning. And Cardinal Richelieu is dead."


	46. Chapter 46

Treville stood there, stunned. Dead! What in the world?!

"When did this happen? Why was I not informed?"

"The world does not revolve around you, Treville," responded Valmont, continuing on his way to the door.

In several swift strides, Treville caught up to the odious official and grabbed his arm.

Valmont stiffened at the content. "How dare you!"

"I will dare a great deal more ifI don't start getting some answers", Treville stated. "I am responsible for the royal family's safety. When someone as immediate to His Majesty dies, I need to be informed in order to do my job."

"The Red Guard…"

"Are worthless, and you know it. Tell me what happened…now!"

There was a considerable pause. Treville knew the man was weighing the possible repercussions for himself. Whether Valmont thought Treville had a position above the nobility of the Court, which he himself was a member of, or not, he knew how much Louis thought of this man before him.

Finally, the man spoke in a resigned voice. "We don't yet know, other than that there were no signs of foul play. He was found dead in his bed two hours ago by his valet. He seemed to be at peace by his facial expression."

"Why was I not informed, Valmont," Treville reiterated his earlier question.

"His Majesty is keeping the news contained within the palace for as long as possible. He fears in-fighting among the aristocracy to be chosen to take Richelieu's place, as has happened in other countries over the centuries. For now, the news does not leave these walls, Captain."

Treville said, "I need to see His Majesty now."

"He is not holding audiences at the moment. He is in mourning. He…"

"I am not seeking an audience to curry favors, and you know it. What I need to see him about is of vital importance."

"As I have already stated, Treville, he is not …"

Treville turned abruptly while Valmont was still speaking, and marched out the doors fuming, leaving them to slam closed, the sound echoing through the halls of the palace.

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At the garrison, a package was left at the gate, with no name as to who it was for. Since Treville was away from the garrison at the moment, Athos absent, and Aramis sleeping per physician's orders, the Musketeer on duty hailed Porthos, who was headed for breakfast, he being next in line.

Taking the package, he slit it open with his main gauche. On top was a note. Opening it, he read 'Athos will be executed in two days if Aramis is not given to us. It will not be a pretty sight'.

Porthos, feeling something else underneath, dug deeper and felt fabric. Pulling it into the light, he saw that he held Athos neck scarf, smeared with blood.

It confirmed what they already believed, that Athos would be a bargaining chip to get what they wanted-Aramis. His mind immediately thought 'we've got to keep this from Aramis', only to hear an anguished voice directly behind him.

Porthos whirled around, finding his brother staring at the scarf, tears running down his face. "This is my fault-all my fault. I …"

Porthos interrupted him. "How can this possibly be your fault, mon ami?" he asked in a gentle voice.

Aramis responded, "It's me they want. They hurt Athos to get me."

"That still doesn't make it your fault, Aramis," d'Artagnan said, having arrived at the little group unnoticed amidst the reactions to the package.

"Yes, it does," Aramis insisted. "Richelieu wants me punished. Athos did nothing, and will die if I…"

"You are not giving yourself for him, Aramis. Look what happened to you when you took off when d'Artagnan was kidnapped. They weren't going to release d'Artagnan once they had you. Laurent told us his brother planned to kill the only witness anyway."

"I…"

"We are going to watch you like hawks, mon ami. You are our brother, and we love you. We will find another way," Porthos said adamantly. "It's not going to happen again."

"Let's go see what we can eat this morning," d'Artagnan said, slinging his arm around Aramis' shoulder and heading for the mess tables. D'Artagnan steered Aramis along, the marksman walking as if in a daze at the shock he had received again.

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'Valmont probably assumed that I obeyed his strictures and went back to the garrison,' Treville mused to himself. "How little he knows me. I know this place inside out, and far better than that pompous man ever will. Now where is that concealed door that Louis uses to escape all the palace hangers-on?"

He walked along the palace wall one more time before he found and pushed open the clever hidden entrance Louis' father had created when he ruled France as Henri IV.

As soon as he walked through the door, he heard, "Treville! What are you doing?" emphasizing 'are' in a voice of surprising good humor.

"Majesty, I come on a matter of great importance," Treville began. "I regret that I have to impart this news at the present time, though."

Louis was intrigued, as Treville knew he would be by the way he had phrased his opening comment.

"I am all ears, Treville," Louis responded, happy to have a diversion from his current feelings of devastation.

"I am not quite certain where to begin, Majesty," Treville said.

"How about at the beginning, Treville," Louis suggested, greatly amused by his own witticism.

"Very well," Majesty," the Captain responded. "I will preface what I say with telling you that the matter is likely to make you quite angry at first," here he paused, "at me."

Louis was now quite curious as to what Treville had to tell him. "You know how much I hold you in esteem, Treville. Pray, proceed."

Treville then filled his monarch in on the whole affair with Richelieu's and his hired men. He had known that Louis would become angry as soon as he mentioned Richelieu's name in connection with the kidnappings an near-death of Aramis.

The Captain had patiently waited out Louis' tirade, then explained that the brother of the ringleader carrying out Richelieu's orders had himself heard his brother bring up the Cardinal's name several times while still a member of the group.

Treville also told him that Aramis' had been brought before Richelieu when he was kidnapped, and that the Cardinal had 'visited' more than once to see if his orders were being carried out as he wished.

Two witnesses gave Louis pause, and Treville lost no time telling him they needed to go after the gang as soon as possible. Treville then asked for permission to search the recently-deceased Richelieu's apartment in the palace to see if there was anything that could assist them in tracking the men down.

As he had expected, Louis vehemently objected to conducting a search through the possessions of someone who was barely dead yet.

"Majesty, we do not know if the leader of these men has been in Richelieu's apartments. If he has, and if he hears that the Cardinal has died, he may return and get rid of any evidence that could incriminate him. I know you will never besmirch Richelieu's name publicly, as you loved him while he lived. But we need to move fast, before an innocent life is extinguished."

Curious again, Louis wanted to know who it was this time.

Treville told him, "He has now taken my lieutenant, Athos, in hopes of forcing either Aramis to give himself to them to save his brother's life, or possibly hoping the regiment might make a trade, to both of which I say 'over my dead body'."

Louis had gasped as Treville's had said Athos' name. He knew the man had the demeanor of an aristocrat, which automatically made him more worthy in Louis' eyes, but the man was also Treville's right-hand man.

"It is also a matter of importance to apprehend these men whose usual way of living is to attack, rob and often murder their victims in our great city. We need to protect your people who love you so much, Majesty."

The silence stretched for several long minutes, before Louis finally said, "Very well, Treville. You have your permission. But I want it done very quietly. I do not want the whole palace to know. I need some time to consider the Cardinal's replacement before the wolves start circling, wanting to be his replacement." He was talking about a number of noblemen's of his Court, who would dearly love to be the new First Minister of France. The power. The glory. The riches!

Treville was beyond glad it had gone better than he had feared. "Never fear, Sire. No one will know of it. There are tunnels and other concealed doors in this palace. We will use them to keep everything under wraps. Majesty," he concluded, bowing deeply to his sovereign before exiting the room the same way he had come in.'Tonight, he thought, already making plans. It could never be done in daylight with the sheer number of servants and members of the Court wandering around the palace.'

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Athos had discovered what might turn out to assist him in escaping whatever prison this was. He had found a small chink in the stones of his cell. It was difficult trying to maneuver his body enough to try getting the piece loose, as the chains holding him to the wall allowed him barely any leeway.

But, at least, it was a possibility. He had known there was next to no chance of getting out of the shackles, but if he could get the chink out, he might have a way to overpower one of the men who visited his cell bringing the meager food and water.

It gave him hope and a plan, which was what he needed.

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Aramis found that Porthos and d'Artagnan were his constant companions. If one of them left for a bit, the other replaced him. They were not about to let him take off again, and if he was in either of them's shoes, he wouldn't either.

'But there had to be a way', he thought, as he lay stretched out on his bed, head laying on his upstretched hands. 'He couldn't just let Athos be executed without trying to stop it.'

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Treville told him, "Better than I thought, Porthos. Better than I thought. I went to the palace to see Louis, and tell him about Richelieu's involvement in this whole sordid affair. But I first found out that Richelieu is no longer involved."

Porthos interjected, "What?! He had a change of heart? Don't sound much like him. He's a weasel that needs his comeuppance, Captain."

"I wholeheartedly agree, Porthos. But he got it today, in a very unexpected way."

Porthos was very curious now, his brows raising in question.

"He's dead, Porthos. Our nemesis is no more."

Shock covered Porthos' face now. "How?"

"We don't know, except to say his man found him dead in bed in the wee hours of the morning today. Louis is keeping it quiet til he can figure out who will replace him. You know the frenzy this is going to cause." Treville saw Porthos' quick nod. "Let us keep it along ourselves for as long as possible."

Porthos followed Treville up the stairs, wanting to talk to him in the privacy of his office about Aramis and his once again feeling he needed to sacrifice himself, and Treville wanting to discuss the search of Richelieu's apartments later.

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Aramis finally thought he saw his chance when d'Artagnan briefly nodded his head from exhaustion. He felt bad for his brothers, bearing the brunt of taking care of him as he healed, staying one step ahead of Mattieu, and now guarding him.

But he didn't see that he had a choice. He couldn't just let his dear brother be the next victim of Richelieu's revenge.

Seeing d'Artagnan's continuing to catnap despite himself, Aramis slowly eased his way out of bed, slipping his feet into his boots. He was already mostly dressed, and it didn't matter if it wasn't Musketeer standard where he would be going. They would probably tear half of them off anyway, as they did last time.

He shuddered despite himself. His memories and dreams kept a vivid picture within his mind of his ordeal at their hands.

Persistently shaking off the visions, he made his way to the door. Not a creak was made as he lifted the latch. He opened it just far enough to slip through, then moved out into the night.

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 _ **Someone has powerful as Richelieu has indeed caused the type of frenzy Louis was talking about. I just used that fact in Richelieu's death aftermath. We also don't know how he is supposed to have died on the show, as they just had the Musketeers talk about him being dead. In real life, he died of tuberculosis, the white death, which Louis died of also.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading my story, and let me know what you think whenever you can. I hope this story isn't too long for you!**_


	47. Chapter 47

"Just where do you think you're going?" a familiar deep voice said, as Porthos materialized out of the darkness before Aramis had gone more than two steps outside his door.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as his friend laid a friendly (and strong, his helpful mind supplied) arm around his shoulders, turning him around and back into his room.

"Porthos, I…."

"No need to thank me for saving your hide once again. Glad to do it, mon ami."

"He is going to die, Porthos, if I don't come. You do realize that, don't you?" Aramis' voice held a note of pleading and desperation that his brothers rarely heard, but the big man resolutely ignored it as he said, "We've been over this more than once, Aramis. Giving yourself up would just result in two deaths. They don't intend to release Athos, if their previous actions mean anything. All your going would do is result in a very painful second death at their hands."

Silence. Then, in a soft voice, Aramis said, "I have to try, Porthos."

"Not this way. Aramis. Not on my watch. We don't intend to ignore Athos' life. We'll get him back. Trust us."

Aramis' expression looked as if he had already lost his friend. Silent now, he let Porthos guide him to a chair and then sat heavily, sinking his face into his hands.

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Treville and three of his men returned to the palace late in the evening. Normally, there would be many people of the Court gathering for the evening's entertainment, whatever Louis had devised and had set up by his servants. But since he had sent word that he was too devastated to participate in any affairs, everyone had either retired to their room or gone out to seek other places to eat, drink, dance or gamble the night away. The palace seemed almost deserted as a result, and Treville couldn't have asked for a better scenario.

He led his men up the broad staircase and down the hallways to the deceased First Minister's suite of rooms. Throwing wide the doors they entered, then softly closed the doors behind them. They didn't need an uninvited audience for what they had come to do.

Richelieu had always amazed Treville with the opulence of his tastes. The richest fabrics for his clothes, down to the finest hand-tooled leather on his feet. Bishops and Cardinals indeed wore fine garments for their liturgies, but not to the extent of Richelieu. Granted, he may have thought he needed to fit in with the elegance and wealth of the Court he dealt with, but he often outshone some of them, as well. He had apparently never had any sense of poverty of spirit in regards to imitating the Lord he supposedly served.

Treville, who knew him better than the Court members, due to the amount of time they were forced to spend in each other's company working on the security of the King and kingdom. Richelieu's had no faith or morals so far as Trevillen had ever seen, and no scruples as to how far he would go to achieve the ends he sought, either.

Looking around at the silks and brocade's adorning the rooms they were in, he shook his head. Such a waste. The man had always had an excellent and quick mind, a brilliance that he could have turned to seeking an even better France, instead of advancing his own agenda.

Treville instructed his men to search every inch of he rooms, looking for papers that might give them some clue about the nefarious doings of Mattieu, or instructions for concealing prisoners, ancient prisons, or private payments. He instructed them to search as quietly as possibly, in order to avoid detection that someone was in the rooms of the deceased.

He himself walked over to Louis' huge, ornate, intricately-carved desk. Sitting down, he decided to start with the least likely sources where the information he sought might be: the top of the desk and the top, unlocked drawer. It didn't take long. The Cardinal had never been a stupid man. He found nothing he sought there.

Pulling a small blade from an inner pocket, he used skills Porthos, with his knack for opening locks, would have been amazed to see. It only took a few moments to open the other three drawers. Putting away his blade, the Captain began sifting.

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Athos had begun to cramping up after so many hours with so little room to maneuver. Regardless he continued to work at loosening the piece of stone. He had started to wonder if his efforts might be for nothing when the stone suddenly shifted slightly under his fingers. Elated, he began working at it even harder. He now felt a little more movement, but it still stubbornly refused to come loose.

Hearing the scrape of the key in the lock, he ceased his efforts and leaned back against the wall to cover the loosened stone, although in this light, he doubted that it could be up at the two burly men who had entered the small cell, he suspected what they were here for before the first fist hit him.

Several minutes later, he slumped against the wall, the men having taken a now-bloodied shirt from his back.

Mattieu's voice floated somewhere above him, as he said, "Your friends need another small token to induce them to respond to me," laughing at his own comment, before slamming the cell door shut behind him.

As soon as they had left and he was once more in the dark, Athos, wrapping an arm around his midsection, stubbornly and painfully turned around and resumed his efforts to free the stone. When next they entered his cell, he would be ready for them, he vowed to himself. 

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Just as Treville's frustration was nearing the boiling point, his eyes zeroed in on a line from the current paper he held in his hand. He was careless enough to leave the man's name on incriminating correspondence, Treville exulted, staring down at Mattieu's name written in Richelieu's bold hand.

Eagerly reading on, the Captain hoped for the information they needed. And there it was. 'MAr to be held at ….' There was no place name, but the date of the paper corresponded to the time of Aramis' disappearance. MAr would be short for Musketeer Aramis. He had read other confidential documents written by Richelieu over the years, so he knew the Cardinal's 'abbreviations. Scanning through the rest of the paper, he saw no further information. Disappointed, he turned to the paper underneath. Beginning to read, he caught his breath. Richelieu had either been careless or very stupid not to have destroyed these papers, he thought.

There, in plain French, were the words 'At, L of M'. 'Athos, Lieutenant of Musketeers',Treville deciphered. Reading on, he saw 'held at B for ins'. Again reading the code, he saw 'held at Bastille for insurance'. Richelieu's obviously didn't think Athos' aristocratic lineage was known well, but it was enough to imprison him somewhere in the bowels of the only prison to which members of the nobility were sent.

'You didn't exercise sense leaving this here, but you were very clever with this plan', Treville thought. 'He is concealing Athos there. His heritage is mostly unknown in Paris. He is probably buried out of sight in a cell as deep in the prison as possible, and the Red Guards have charge of him'.

Folding the paper and putting it in his pocket, Treville closed the drawers, calling softly to his men that they were leaving. Moving as quietly and unobtrusively as they had come, they retrieved their mounts once they were outside.

Moving quickly through the mostly emptied-out streets of a now quiet and dark Paris, they headed fr the garrison. 'We're coming for you, Athos. Hang on', Treville thought to himself as their horses' hoofbeats thundered on the streets.

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I am so sorry this is so short. I had a very busy week, with a 2-day trip north for a family wedding, then Holy Week and Easter doings. I may have another chapter ready tomorrow or Tuesday for you.

The Bastille at the time of our Musketeers was where very important high-ranking prisoners were sent. In later centuries, it was used as a penitentiary.

As always, I want to tell you I am so incredibly grateful for your reading and, when you have the time, reviewing my stories!


	48. Chapter 48

_**This is the chapter previously posted 2 weeks ago. It seems to have disappeared after a day or so, and I have received pm's telling me they never saw it! The next chapter should be posted tomorrow, if all goes well. It will be either the last, or next to last, chapter of Brothers.**_

Turning from where he had seated Aramis, he saw a just awakening d'Artagnan. The Gascon was staring confusedly at his brothers through still-sleepy eyes.

"What were you thinking, d'Artagnan?" Porthos demanded, "He could have….." apruptly halting as his ears had picked up someone shouting his name from the direction of the gates.

Heading for the door, all three Musketeers saw the gate guard holding a cloth, and they took off at a run.

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As Treville came within sight of the garrison gates, worry clouded his brow and he kneed his horse to move faster. He could see Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan gathered around the gate guard, Porthos holding a cloth of some kind.

"Captain!" d'Artagnan shouted when he spotted him.

Jumping from his horse before he had even reached them, he strode rapidly to their group, demanding, "What's happened?"

Porthos held aloft what Treville could now see was a bloodied shirt, a dirty, but very familiar shirt.

"Athos!" he exclaimed.

"It came a few moments ago, Captain," d'Artagnan explained.

Treville listened, his eyes on a silent Aramis, the haunted look in his eyes pulling at his heart. 'He blames himself', Treville correctly surmised, and it's eating away at him.

Tearing his eyes away, Treville announced, "We are going to take him back. Mount up!"

Porthos said, "Wait! You mean you have an idea where he might be held?" both hope and confusion in his question.

"I don't have time to explain now. Just that he is in the Bastille and …."

"The Bastille?!" three voices echoed at once.

Treville said, "If you would let me finish?"

"Sorry, Captain," came three contrite, but still curious replies.

"I will explain later, but yes, he's somewhere in the Bastille. Mount up as quickly as possible. We have some Red Guards and other thugs to overcome, and bring Athos home. Be ready in fifteen minutes", striding off to pull several more Musketeers from various garrison duties to bolster their numbers. He had no idea how many men they might find opposing he and his men yet.

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Athos refused to give himself any rest, even though his body was in pain and aching in more places than he cared to count after the beating. His sole focus was getting that piece of stone free.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the stone literally dropped into his hand after a particularly aggressive yank on it. 'It is about time', he muttered to himself.

Giving himself a few moments break now, he waited for the guards to show themselves at his cell door again, stone firmly in hand.

Not more than ten minutes later, he was rewarded by the sound of the cell door being unlocked. He crouched, intent on getting a jump on them.

One thing he had noticed each time they came. There were always two of them, one staying at the door, the other coming inside. And not once had they had firearms, only swords and main gauches.

One of the men headed into the cell, and Athos barely let him get close enough before hitting him in the forehead with his stone. As the man fell, Athos lunged as far as he could, grasping the man's sword. Hurling it like a dagger, it hit the other guard dead center in his heart, dropping him, as well.

Barely stopping to take a breath, Athos felt around the body of the guard dead at his feet, luck still carrying him as he grasped a set of keys. Moments later, he was free.

Moving as quickly as his battered body would allow him, he limped out the cell door into a dark hallway. He could hear booted feet somewhere not too far off, so he went the other way, just hoping he wouldn't hear guards that way also, or he could get sandwiched in-between. The familiar feeling of a sword in his hand, and a main gauche (pulled from the dead guard's body) gave him more confidence as he cautiously moved forward.

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As Treville led his men back into the streets of Paris, he hoped he wasn't going to rub Louis too much the wrong way by not letting him know beforehand of his breaching the Bastille to rescue Athos, and hopefully finally to capture Mattieu and his band to finally bring their reign of terror to an end. He knew from experience that Louis did not like to be kept in the dark about his Musketeers doings.

But Treville hadn't felt that he really had the time to visit the palace beforehand to lay out the situation to his petulant king. That bloodstained shirt was still in his mind's eye, as he was sure it was in the minds of his men. Who knew what might be happening at this very moment? He just hoped Louis didn't come down hard on them for doing what had to be done in the situation.

Porthos was happy and relieved to finally be able to take some action about the situation. He was never comfortable about sitting around and twiddling his thumbs. He would much rather charge right in and butt some heads and take Athos back.

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He was worried about Aramis, though. The marksman was still unusually quiet. After adamantly insisting he was both well and strong enough to take part in their mission, he had gone, what was for him, exceptionally quiet again after Treville had almost reluctantly given his consent.

A talkative Aramis let them know his mindset. This mostly silent marksman had him a little worried. But trying to draw him out had gone nowhere, so he was leaving him be for now. But if he tried something reckless, endangering his life to save that of Athos, he would be ready to step in.

They could see the huge bulk of the prison looking before them now. Everyone checked their weapons, tension running high as they approached. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos reached the end of the corridor in which his cell had been, and cautiously looked around the corner. No one was in sight, so he eased his way onward.

But no sooner had he taken a couple of steps, than two Red Guards blocked his way, drawing their weapons. Athos had never known a Red Guard who was a threat to him with a sword, although he had never taken them on in the shape he was in now. Advancing with a show of confidence, he met them head-on as they both attacked at once.

They were nearly as bad as the others he had sometimes engaged, and he had one run through and the other unconscious from a blow from the hilt of his rapier without having to really work at it very hard.

He left them behind and continued down the corridor, hoping he could find a way out of the place soon. He had just spied a heavily-bolted door as he turned onto yet another corridor, when he heard a number of booted feet behind him.

Resolutely turning to face them as he had nowhere else he could go, he saw two Red Guards and two others, possibly Mattieu's men advancing, all heavily armed.

Rather than stay in a defensive posture, he did as before and charged straight at them, weapons ready.

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Just as the Musketeers reached the massive front of the prison, Aramis redirected his horse away from them, galloping around the Eastern edge of the building and out of sight, the sounds of his brothers shouting his name ringing in his ears as he disappeared from their sight.

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 _ **Tomorrow, we find out how Athos is faring, and where Aramis went.**_

 _ **Thanks so much for reading, and when you can, reviewing.**_


	49. Chapter 49

Aramis felt guilt creeping through his mind as he raced away from his brothers. They had opposed his coming with them in the first place, being concerned that he wasn't in shape to be going with them. He had vigorously appealed to them, saying he needed to take part in rescuing Athos because he had caused his brother's predicament in the first place, that he was overcome with pain at the possible death or injury to his brother. He then told them he was feeling fine, which they immediately dismissed in disbelief, knowing him quite well. But his last argument finally made them give in.

"If you leave me behind, I will just go on my own', he had said, and that made them nervous enough at the prospect of him facing the vicious gang alone that that finally gave in. They knew Aramis, and knew that he would do exactly as he threatened to do if they didn't.

Aramis had to work hard to keep a smile hidden as he had mounted up with them. He knew his brothers, too.

He reached the back of massive prison, and began searching for the little-known entrance that hadn't been used in recent times. The Musketeers and the Red Guards had been at each other's throats for years, but Aramis had made one friend from among them.

Two years ago, he had saved the man's life when a petty thief had pulled a hidden dagger as Henri was wrestling him to the ground. The man had taken a swipe at him, and the blade had torn a deep gash across his shoulder. Aramis, happening by, had knocked the man out with the handle of his pistol, his brothers arriving next, and taking the thief into custody.

Aramis, meanwhile, had stopped the bleeding from Henri's wound, and used a piece of his own shirt to bandage it. Henri had been profoundly grateful, and little by little, a friendship between the two had formed.

It had been Henri, a man interested in how things were built and who had taken to examining the structure of the prison he had been assigned to work in, who had told Aramis about the Bastille's back door, telling him if you didn't know to look for it, you might pass it right by, overgrown with creepers and weeds as it was. Aramis had thought, while they headed for the Bastille, that a sizable group of men would probably attract the attention of the Red Guards who worked in the prison. One man alone might not draw their eyes, at least he hoped not.

There it was! Leaping from his horse, he approached the door and tried it, jubilant when it creaked right open. He moved through it, pulling it closed behind him-a moment before Porthos, who had been delayed by a vendor's cart crossing his path, rounded the corner in search of him.

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Athos had taken out two of the men, and was close to defeating the other two, when several more arrived to join the fray. Trying not to get disheartened/div at the overwhelming odds now stacked against him, he continued fighting furiously, but was starting now to tire.

Just as it looked as if he would be retaken, he saw out of the corner of his eye a new man entering the fight-and to Athos' astonishment, it seemed he was fighting against the foe. Athos couldn't see much more out of the corner of his vision than a back and hat, but then the his unexpected ally swiveled his head and grinned at him as he fought.

"Aramis!' Athos exulted. He had no idea how his brother had got here or found his location in the twisting dark-lit halls of whatever prison he was in. He was just incredibly glad he was here beside him.

The two of them now made short work of their opponents, dispatching them with a level of skills their opponents simply didn't possess.

As the last man fell, both Aramis and Athos spied a large figure take off down a dark connecting hallway. Looking at each other in silent agreement, they both followed in pursuit, leaving an array of bodies strewn around the now-silent hallway.

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Treville found that he didn't have any trouble gaining entrance to the Bastille, once he told the Red Guard at the entrance that Louis needed a prisoner brought before him immediately. The ruse worked, and the Musketeers rapidly filed through the doors.

Treville had already figured, as Aramis had, that the only place Athos could be successfully hidden away would be the seldom-used bottom level of the edifice. Treville seethed, thinking of his man in the bowels of this prison, innocent of any crime, a pawn to force a trade-off for another of his men, also innocent.

Laurent, who had also pleaded, and then insisted that he be allowed to accompany the rescue attempt. He brought up the rear, anger at his brother warring with the fear Mattieu had instilled in him all through his life. He tamped down that fear now, determined to be his own man finally.

Treville led his men by as straight a path as was possible down into the depths of the prison, but after moving through a series of passageways, they found a scene of bodies and weapons strewn in the middle of one of the them. Treville looked at Porthos and d'Artagnan, Porthos' nodding before saying, "Looks like they weren't much of a match for our brothers", ending with a grin.

"Let's go find them before they run into any more trouble," Treville said.

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Athos and Aramis both figured they might finally have a chance to get Mattieu. Both men had seen the size of the culprit who had taken of, and figured there couldn't be that many men of that size who just happened to be inside the Bastille.

Aramis had fought full-out at Athos' side surprisingly with no signs of exhaustion from his long period of recovery. But as they trailed Mattieu, it started to make it's presence felt. 'Not now', he stubbornly told his body.

He had briefly told Athos of the Musketeers arrival, and that they were probably even now within the building searching for them.

Glancing over at a grim-faced and determined Athos, his medic's trained eyes could see, even in the dim light from the torches hung high on the walls, that he had been beaten-and recently. Knowing Athos, he figured that his brother was also commanding his body to ignore the damage for now. In some ways, Aramis thought to himself, we are quite alike at times.

They had reached another branching of the hallways. Aramis looked at Athos, who shrugged his shoulders and turned onto the one to the left, Aramis staying right beside his brother. They could just hope this was the right direction, that Mattieu hadn't gone right, back out into the streets of Paris to continue the bloody path he made of his life.

This section of hallway was even worse lit than the others. They moved more cautiously, always peering ahead hoping to get a good glimpse of their quarry.

This hallway had several completely unlit branches spaced out along the passage. They glanced down them as they passed, but couldn't really see anything.

The increased dimness of the hallway began bringing back unwelcome memories for Aramis of the time of his captivity with the absence of any light. Shaking the thoughts off, an involuntary shiver still ran down his back.

That feeling suddenly changed, as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Mattieu was somewhere very close to them now! He started to reach over to warn Athos, when an arm grabbed hold of his left arm and wrenched it viciously up behind his back, at the same time as a big, meaty hand clamped down over his mouth, stifling the warning he had been about to give.

It did Mattieu no good to keep him quiet, though. Athos instantly felt the danger, swiveling around, sword in hand.

Seeing Aramis held tightly against Mattieu's huge frame, Athos froze.

"Let him go, Mattieu! The game is over. Musketeers are already in the building looking for you. You have nowhere left to run."

"I don't think you or they are going to run your friend through to get to me. You care too much about each other, and that has been your downfall. He is going to be taken back to finish what we …"

At these words, Aramis' eyes went wide, and Athos could see the effect they had on him. At first, Aramis struggled, but didn't get anywhere doing so. He wasn't physically the size of Mattieu, and the man had no trouble maintaining his hold. If anything, he tightened his arms further.

Aramis' breathing was now being affected , as part of Mattieu's hand was over his nose as well as mouth. Athos demanded, "Let him go! He cannot breathe!"

"Well, then he dies here now instead of later. Makes no difference. I get paid anyway," he said laughing.

"The man doesn't Richelieu's is dead', Athos thought. About to inform him in the last hope that the man would back off, Athos saw Aramis suddenly go limp.

Just as he was going to fling himself at Mattieu, he saw Aramis, once Mattieu's grip loosen slightly, kick back as hard as he could, hitting Mattieu's kneecap, causing the man to help in pain.

At the same time, he wrenched his arm upward. Athos heard a loud pop, seeing Aramis grimaced in pain. But the marksman's arm came free.

Athos, gripping his sword, started forward, but halted when someone new walked into the dim light. Laurent. The man had a determined look on his face as he pointed his pistol at his brother.

 _ **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

 _ **Only one more chapter to go! I had an unexpected interruption in my writing yesterday, or this would have been longer, and with the finale.**_


	50. Chapter 50

Aramis shuddered as he drew in several long gasping breaths, all the while watching Laurent aiming at his long-hated brother. The marksman was in considerable pain, but had long been able to compartmentalize discomfort when he had to.

Catching Athos' eyes, he said softly but clearly to Laurent, "We can take it from here, Laurent", aiming the pistol he had appropriated from Mattieu as the man remained bent over in agonizing pain from his now-broken kneecap.

Laurent, his eyes never leaving his brother, said, "He destroyed my life, did his best to turn me into what he is. He called me a weakling, worthless, and scum-his own brother. He has caused nothing but pain to decent people his whole life. He came very close to causing an agonizing death for you. He deserves to die now."

Aramis responded quietly, "You don't want to imitate him, Laurent. He is going to hang for what he has done. You don't want killing your flesh and blood on your conscience, no matter how evil he is."

"Don't I?" Laurent bitterly said. "It would be only the second time in my life that I have done something good with it. He saw to that. He's killed, tortured, robbed so many innocent people. This is for them", cocking the pistol as he spoke.

Aramis fired before Laurent could carry out an execution the marksman was sure would haunt Mattieu's brother for the rest of his life, whether he hated him or not. With pinpoint and deadly accuracy, his shot caused the pistol in Laurent's hand to fly erratically to the left, bouncing off the prison wall and firing harmlessly into the dirty floor.

Reaching the now-shaken young man in seconds, Aramis wrapped his arms around the shaking frame and held him against his own body while sobs echoed down the hallway.

Athos, whose sword was now pointed at Mattieu's throat, gradually lowered it as Musketeers suddenly flooded the hallway, quickly surrounding the downed giant with pistols drawn.

Treville strode over to Athos, taking in his disheveled and black and blue appearance.

Athos, seeing his captain's perusal, said, "I am all right, Captain. I think, however, from what I heard when this one", indicating Mattieu with a slightly disgusted look, "nearly suffocated Aramis, that my brother may have a dislocated shoulder we will need to work on."

Treville's head had swiveled rapidly towards the marksman at Athos' words. Aramis' face, despite his attempt to hide it, was now registering the pain he had been working so hard to keep in check.

D'Artagnan had eased Laurent gently from Aramis' arms, sitting the young man down against a wall and easing his head on to the Gascon's shoulder. Laurent, emotionally spent, was unmoving now.

Aramis leaned himself carefully against the wall a little further down, head down, one hand wrapped around the other arm, holding it still against his side.

Athos and Treville approached him, gently urging Aramis to lie down. He protested, saying Athos needed looking after, to which he retorted, "You will be unable to until we set that dislocated shoulder of yours", the telltale eyebrow raised when Aramis looked sharply up at him.

"Yes, I did hear it dislocated, and from the way you are keeping it still, you are in quite a bit of pain. Shall we?"

Without another word, working in tandem, Treville held Aramis still as Athos firmly took hold of the marksman's arm. In one swift motion, he yanked it back into place, drawing an agonized scream from Aramis.

Porthos, who had been busy securing Mattieu's hands behind his back with shackles, looked up startled. Seeing what was happening, he handed the job over to another Musketeer, and, in spite of his size, was at Aramis' side in seconds.

Reassured by a nod from Athos, Porthos let out a long breath before saying, "See what happens when you take off like that?! You give me grey hairs when you do stuff like that!" but his eyes told a different story. Relief and love for his brother and best friend filled the brown eyes looking down at Aramis.

"Sorry", Aramis managed, as Porthos gave his good shoulder a squeeze.

"Yeah, well, don't you go doing it again", Porthos warned him in a teasing tone.

Aramis didn't say anything, knowing his brother was just concerned about him. He sat very still against the wall to ward off the pain that moving set off in it. Dislocated bones were never pleasant, but at least they were usually easy enough to put back in place. He would have to go easy on the arm for one or two days, til it was back to normal.

The little cavalcade took it's time going back to the garrison, Treville's extra men surrounding Mattieu, in case any of his still-at-large band had thoughts of rescue attempts.

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Two weeks later, the Musketeers had managed to round up over a dozen of Mattieu's men. Mattieu himself had speedily had a death sentence imposed on him, and Laurent had been accompanied by Aramis and his brothers to see him hung after he insisted that he needed to be present for it.

D'Artagnan had talked the Constance' into renting a room to Laurent, who found a good position when he went looking for employment. He had insisted in being brutally open about his past to his potential employer. The man had been impressed at Laurent's honesty and integrity, hiring him on the spot.

Despite Louis' efforts to keep both Richelieu's death and despicable doings under a veil of secrecy, word spread through the palace and into the city. People, both the high-born in their silks and satins, and the common people on the streets of the city, didn't seem in the least surprised at the revelations of what their much-disliked First Minister had been up to.

In the taverns, there was cheering that he would no longer be giving his Red Guards carte-blanche to ride roughshod over the little people. The people also hoped that when Louis chose a new First Minister, maybe their tax burdens might be lightened.

The Musketeers, present during the revelry in one of the taverns, looked at each other.

Porthos said, "Doesn't seem like he was very well-liked", sarcastically.

D'Artagnan said, " He had always dealt with the people of the city like they were nothing. You can't blame them."

Athos quietly said, "All of the secrets collected for leverage on those from whom he wanted or needed something have gone to the grave with him."

Aramis, pulling his crucifix from under his shirt and kissing it, said, "It's never good to rejoice in death, no matter how evil a man was in life."

Porthos spoke up quickly, "How can you say that, mon ami? That man put you through agony."

Aramis responded, "I didn't say he wouldn't receive a just rewards. Only that it is for his Maker impose it. Man has taken his earthly life. It is in God's hands where he will spend eternity."

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The next day, patrolling through a very busy market day crowd, Aramis was talking as they moved.

"Laurent seems to …," breaking off his words at the same time as he took off through the crowds , hand now resting on the handle of his holstered pistol.

"What in the world …," Porthos began, beginning to run in the direction Athos and d'Artagnan were starting to run now, following as best they could the top of Aramis' head weaving through the crowd far ahead of them.

Suddenly, shrieks and panic ensued at the sound of a gun going off. If anything, the Musketeers moved quicker, concern for their brother lending wings to their feet.

The scene they beheld when they finally caught up with Aramis had them reaching for their own guns, causing the crowd, when they saw their movements, to back away further from what was happening.

In the center of the cleared-away space, Aramis had a man pinned to the ground with his pistol pointing at the side of his forehead.

Athos, speaking calmly, said, "Aramis?"

Aramis, without turning his head away from his captive, replied, "I saw him in the crowd. He's one of Mattieu's men", the gun barrel pushed harder as the man struggled to free himself", the man stopping his abortive attempt at the threat.

Athos continuing, asked, "Would you like our assistance", aware of the emotions flooding his brother at the moment.

Silence, followed by a quiet but clear, "I would be grateful."

With that, they moved swiftly to his side, Athos, seeing the play of emotions on his brother's face, laid a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder, with Porthos and d'Artagnan securing their captive's hands behind him and pulling him to his feet. With four Musketeers surrounding him, resistance had fled the man, standing quietly in their midst.

"You do know that you might have shouted back over your shoulder 'Mattieu's man', to give us some semblance of where you were going?" Athos quietly asked him.

Aramis, looking rather sheepish now, said, "Yes, yes. I know. Sorry."

"Oh no. We would have caught up with you eventually, and either assisted you or picked you up out of the dirt", Athos responded lightly, cocking an eyebrow from under the brim of his hat at d'Artagnan and Porthos, the latter roaring with laughter, and saying, "let's get this one locked up at the garrison."

Athos continued quietly to Aramis, "It brought back the memories that haven't yet had a chance to fade away yet, did it not?"

Nodding slowly, Aramis replied, "I suppose we will be running into yet more of them in the future."

"Then, we will take them on together, mon ami," Athos said. "Let us lock this one up, and then head for the Wren later. We can take our minds off of everything for the evening."

Aramis, seeing the understanding and love in his brothers eyes, silently thanked God for them before saying, "Drinks on me tonight!"

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 _ **I've never written this long of a story before. I hope you enjoyed! I have already thought of an idea for a new fic, which will probably begin in a couple of weeks. As always, thanks so much for reading, following, reviewing. Writing has been a life-long dream of mine, and I am enjoying it immensely, thanks to all of you!**_


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